This Won't End Well (30k Isekai)
by StrangerOrders
Summary: A new soul awakens on a new world, a world as bizarre and alien to the galaxy around them as the soul itself. Regardless of what might come one thing is certain, This Won't End Well. The Tale of the Second Primarch, his court and his Legion.
1. Prologue I

**Chapter I: Prologue I  
**

It was hard to guess for how long I had been sitting in that place. It was difficult to care about that detail, given the circumstance.

Death had come peacefully enough and with no regrets to really speak of, but I had been expecting an end when I had closed my eyes for the last time.

That was the way of things, humans were meant to grow lined and grey. To gain and lose loved ones, then they themselves passed from some malady or other. I had no reason to expect different.

I had certainly not been expecting my eyes to snap open as my body and mind were twisted, warped and stretched into something wholly different, because whatever I had become could only be vaguely called human.

Strangest was that my ignorance was incomplete, I was uncomfortably sure I knew what I was in fact.

Normally that revelation coupled with my mind desperately trying to adapt to its new circumstances would have been sufficient to drive me into a fit of panic.

I wondered if that was a trait of what I had become? I felt my fear and distress only as a dull echo which was rapidly fading. Where I would have expected crying or screaming before, I could muster little more than merely sitting there in silent contemplation.

Wherever 'there' was, that is.

The lighting was bad enough that under normal circumstances I would be quite blind. But my new eyes rapidly compensated for the lack of light and registering several spectra simultaneously, something I had only ever seen through goggles before. It was quite bizarre really, but like everything else I felt it quenched to a mild surprise at most.

I guessed that I could only 'know no fear' so to speak because I still felt everything else quite well, I felt confused, angry and curious well enough after all.

I looked down at my enormous but proportionate hands and let out a breath which almost immediately made me feel the beat of a second heart while the expulsion of air felt strange beneath the strange movement of my partially fused rib-cage.

It might have been a confirmation bias, but the changes I registered resonated with something in my mind. Something that assured me that my instinct was correct.

There could be little doubt, I was either stuck inside of a Primarch or inside an absolutely massive Space Marine (the last being improbable, given the proportions of my body). Which, if true, unfortunately meant that I stuck in one of the most horrible places one could find themselves in.

The absolutely demented reality known as Warhammer 40k.

 _Fuck_. I observed.

Other possibilities were still possible, that I was in some sort of fevered death-dream or in some circumstance that merely bore some arcane resemblance to that accursed universe.

But something in the back of rapidly unwinding and re-knitting mind suggested otherwise.

I was not sure how much of me was in there, I had already noted that I could not quite feel fear or panic and odder still was the new shape my mind was taking.

Even the sheer sensory overload from having every sense magnified and altered was strangely muted, as if they had always been that way and it was only now that I took note of them. It was like a room whose walls were collapsed but the floor and ceiling remained without collapsing, my mind felt like it was impossibly expanded and empty, waiting with baited breath to be filled with knowledge.

This new formulation even robbed me of the bliss of my youth being restored after a fashion, old and sickly flesh cast aside in favor of something far more vital. The only reaction I could summon for that fact was little more than take note of it with mild disinterest.

What I felt more than any natural reaction was an intense craving for context and knowledge. A deep and abiding need to gain an orientation of my surrounding.

Well I was in the right place for it at least, I was leaning against a broken bookshelf of immense size and countless tomes laid on and around me since I woke up.

The shelf was joined by more in every direction which meant I was in some sort library.

 _That will work I supposed_ , a far sight better than doing nothing and thinking about how doomed I was.

I idly reached down for one of the tomes and gingerly plucked it up to look at the inscribed steel on the thick leather cover. I idly hoped that the leather came from an animal while reading the title, _On the Matters of Warp Travel & Its Dangers_…

I tossed the book aside.

Anyone who was knowledgeable enough about this reality would know that the chances of a picking that book up randomly from a pile without it being according to the plan of a certain blue schemer were absolutely nil.

Instead, I opted to pick up a book on early human exploration next, that seemed like a less ominous subject.

In retrospect, it should have been obvious that I would start flipping through it at a great pace (with one grotesquely over-sized finger as the book could easily fit into my palm) while noting that I could somehow read what I was fairly certain was High Gothic despite it looking nothing like any alphabet that I could read (which was two unless you held Hiragana, Kanji and Katakana to be independent alphabets). More importantly my mind seemed to be filling in the gaps where the books or my own limitations should have stopped me. I mildly made note that this was likely the Primarch-quirk which was portrayed as being almost auto-didactic in their learning.

Their maker probably imprinted all the knowledge he deemed important into the infant's minds to be triggered by stimuli. A clever bastard, their maker. Strange to say, but the more the idea lingered in my head, the more something in me assured that my initial feeling was correct and that I had somehow been transplanted into a Primarch.

And also, that my brain could manage two entire different trains of thought without any difficulty as I poured through the tome.

I finished the book within about a minute, the entire thing internalized before moving on to the next and the one after and the one after that, my reading speed actually getting _faster_ as I went.

Part of me realized how ridiculous it was that I was eating through the books around me like the reading equivalent of a wood chipper and managed to recall much less understand the entirety of what I read. After what must have been hours I had not only a rough idea of where I was but a solid understanding of Dark Age Technology, Culture, Language and History on this planet. Well, give or take a few centuries to go by the obvious age of the literature.

I figured that I must have been in the private collection of someone who must have held a wide array of interests due to the diversity within and given the undeniable wear of my surroundings (despite the books being in remarkable shape), this place and its information were probably ancient, a shame as the people of this colony were rather interesting.

It had always struck me as an amusing coincidence that every single Primarch had come from an incredibly unique and interesting world with none of them coming from one of the countless agricultural planets which seemed to later constitute the norm for the Imperium. It seemed that I had not been made exempt from that pattern as I too had been deposited on a world as intriguing as each of those which had had the fortune or misfortune of hosting a Primarch. In as much as one could attempt to fathom the strange and mercurial minds of sentient amalgamations of emotions I could not make even an uneducated guess as why they would have sent a tool of their hated 'Anathema' to this world however.

As I moved to look for a way out of the old library I reflected on the world it spoke of. It was colonized fairly early in the Dark Age by one of humanity's countless sleeper ships, its inhabitants were mostly wealthy men and women from around the globe who hoped to establish a civilized world that suited their desires and which they could shape to their pleasure. An interesting convention which quickly rose in their naming schemes however suggested that they had begun to rapidly adopt ancient Welsh and Irish names, myth and customs not long after their initial landing where before they had come from a multitude of different cultures. I chuckled bitterly at the notion that maybe a bunch of enthusiast of Irish and Arthurian mythology decided to make their own little Camelot, given my own predilections that just made my arriving here seem like even less of a coincidence. I decided not to dwell on the fact that I could not quite recall the look on my granddaughter's face as I read those tales to her, but my mind pushing back the desire to dwell on that particular issue in favor of focusing on the present.

From the reckoning of the books they succeeded rather well in their aims, until they didn't. They settled alright but a flaw in one of their Standard Template Constructs (an early model, some distant part of my mind recognized) had left them without a rather key component to human space travel, the predecessor to the Geller Field. Quite predictably this meant that they had some rather horrible results to their early attempts to replicate the technology and expand into the mineral-rich systems that their initial probes had determined neighbored the world. Oh, they eventually reverse engineered a drive from the ones on their colony ship, but it was one with less than ideal stability, this meant that the colonists had become considerably more familiar with the literal hell beneath reality than most.

I reached a door after some searching, it had been hermetically sealed but quite fortunately I was literally over a ton of pure awesome in the classical sense. It was actually quite simple to place my hands on the broken glass surrounding the door and pull until I ripped through the weakened steel and continued on into what were likely the hallways of an abandoned hive city.

The original colonists had found a rather ingenious work around to their daemon problem though, they figured out that the nasty reality-migraine otherwise known as the creatures of the warp did not really like some of the least popular folk in the colony. Some of the weaker entities seemed to suffer extreme existence-failure when around them in fact, it was with this in mind that the handful of individuals (eight in a colony of now millions) 'volunteered' for experimentation to better understand this resistance, by which I of course mean that they were dissected like frogs in a junior high science class. The work isolated a strange quirk in their genes, a rare one that was previously dismissed as just one of the pieces of junk-D.N.A. which we could not determine the nature of since it seemed to serve no purpose. Very much stumbling through necessity and blind luck into the solution to one of the great riddles of humanity in this reality.

I walked into what must have been a large plaza at one point, the roughly hundred-meter-high chamber was illuminated by sunlight, the floors where littered with truly enormous shards of glass from the shattered dome that once topped that chamber. I appreciated both the light and the flow of fresh air coming into the chamber before moving towards that largest chamber, moving towards what I hoped was the exit because the ruined remains and the state of this place did not bode well. It had unnerved me that I had almost forgotten to taken note of the ancient, ruined bones that had littered the chamber's floors. All the reaction which I could muster however was idly noting that it was a shame given how ingenious they had been about their problem.

They had tinkered with the 'gene', reproducing it on an enormous scale with far more muted effects while breeding a select few to carry the gene in its full strength. In a more familiar light they made themselves into Psi-grade Nulls while generating a smaller group of Omegas or Blanks. The end result was that they had managed to produce an enormous population capable of resisting chaos with a core of weaponized pariahs… and they quite obviously screwed it up. The books had done quite a lot to suggest something would inevitably go horribly wrong, the newer works had an intense pride in their ability to resist the tides of chaos, pure idiocy if you had the amount of forewarning I did. Maybe that was why the Chaos Gods had sent me here, assuming of course that they did which I personally considered to be a fairly safe bet. After all what better way to demoralize one of their foe's tools than to show them that even a people whose very nature was a weapon against them were still annihilated?

They attempted to harness the warp to their own wills, unable to fear it or be tainted by it like other men. In retrospect, I doubted they had encountered anything akin to a Greater Daemon when they began tinkering with it, just because it cannot corrupt you into being its loyal servant or drive you insane with a glance does not mean that it is any less a thirty-foot-tall monster with an axe as big as it is after all.

I emerged from the ruins a few hours later by my reckoning as I noted the sun setting, it shockingly seemed that the planet was in a rather good shape. The only real oddity was the few mathematical incongruities from a logical perspective with my oddly mute memories of a Terran sunset. My mind quickly worked them out while aligning them with my knowledge of the considerably larger nature of this planet before I could return to a more natural appreciation for the scene before me.

Beyond the overgrown fringes of the ruins rose idyllic rolling hills dotted with small groups of trees leading into a great forest which seemed to rise in every direction outward broken only by the blue lines of rivers which raced out from the ruined overgrowth.

There came a hint of a smile on my lips as I looked out at the beauty of it.

I did not look back until I had reached the first green hill since I did not much relish the prospect of starring at more ruin and death, but my curiosity won in the end (as it often did).

My head traced up and took in the sight of the ruins me, I had emerged from a dead hive as I had theorized but the vast sprawling structure that consumed my entire field on vision made it abundantly clear that I must have awoken in the outskirts of the structure.

The entire thing was migraine inducing, as my human-self's incomprehension and my Primarch-brain's casual ease clashed against each other. I struggled to properly come to grips with the shattered metallic spires reaching miles into the air, great roots rising and sinking across depressed towers the size of cities which I had only ever seen in the most disproportionate of media. It was as if the planet was attempting swallow the works of man in its efforts to heal, things had clearly gone south a while ago… well to be fair the last book I read was printed in M25 so things probably went south when the Storms hit.

 _Barring time travel, that should have been some five millennia past_ , I thought as parts of my brain forced themselves awake and rapidly evaluated the scene to confirm my guess. My lips parted as I tried to grasp the grotesque scale of the scene, closer evaluations made me realize that vast branches and vines were overgrown hab-segments worn away and fallen, only to become trapped between lower spires. Impossible vertical forests sprouted titanic arms outwards through shattered domes which would have been able to contain the hearts of my time's greatest metropoles with ease. It was hard not to be awed by it, even as my less human side was rapidly clamping down on that awe,

My musing was interrupted when I noticed small lights within the ruin begin to brighten from far away, my inhuman eyes could see well enough to know the fires were moves and I could tell some were assuming shape. To my growing unease, the light gave way to vaguely humanoid forms that did not quite seem real like some wild nightmare was slowly infringing upon reality as the night grew darker. One was at the entrance where I left and it was staring at me, it had a shape with tall pale horns and-

I turned around and began pumping my gene-crafted legs as hard as I could which turned out to be quite fast as I ran away, not from fear of course but rather from a very logical conclusion that I was both screwed if I stayed and that I did not in fact want to meet my demise yet again. My every experience and instinct told me that I would not do well in a confrontation against a bloodletter if I was lucky enough for there to only be one much less when unarmed and in a less than ideal condition. Such was my certainty that I even managed to crush the upsurge of confidence that tried to impose itself over my good sense.

Running straight into the forest seeking the cover of the trees , I weaved my way deep inside until I finally registered that I could hear no sound but my own breathing and the leaves rustling in the wind. With my inhuman senses the dark shadows of the forest were minimal at best while the sounds and smells of the forest were easily cataloged and fortunately natural. I found a great deal of comfort in the lack of movement in the forest and after pressing on a few more minutes to be safe, I began to look for a spot to rest. It did not take long as I located one of the streams that I had spotted entering the forest I mulled over what I had witnessed.

It was a safe conclusion that the ruins were Daemon-infested, frankly given the sheer amount of bones in the ruins and the works I had read it was would not be surprising if the damage was severe enough that something akin to a small tear into the warp had opened somewhere in the hive and let them slip into the material plane. Which of course raised the question of why I had not been attacked earlier, while it was entirely possible that I was _allowed_ to escape that did not really seem like Khorne's standard approach and I somehow doubted that a single Primarch would be worth him and Tzeentch cooperating in such a fashion which left me with the conclusion that the Daemons were probably not a part of any real plan. Then there was the fact that they neither seemed to pursue but revealed themselves regardless when the sun set. Maybe they were somehow bound to that place? The library had been a private collection so it hardly had the full scope of this place's technology so perhaps they managed to trap the Daemons despite destroying the hive, which was certainly impressive even if they had allowed the monsters in in the first place.

I sat by the stream to take a moment's rest while contemplating what to do, or at least that was my intent but for some reason I collapsed into unconsciousness the moment I sat down.

Some distant part of my head seemed to register that I felt as if it had been months since I had ingested food.

The first thing I noticed when I awoke was the smell of cooking, the scent of cooking dark meat and no amount of inhuman modification could prevent my stomach from growling in hunger at the smell.

Of course, my less than ordinary senses were also registering several humans, one was close by and several more were further away which combined with the lesser noises I was picking up made it obvious that I was in some sort of settlement. Heartbeat, step patterns, taste, smells and a litany of other data which would have overwhelmed a human mind storing themselves away for later use.

What my inhuman-physiology did prevent me from immediately noticing was the fact that I was on the ground, on a fairly soft cot, but definitely on the ground. I groaned as I opened my eyes and pushed myself into a sitting position while hearing a startled grunt, I looked around to take note of my surroundings.

I was inside of a small and decidedly medieval house with somewhat rotten planks for a floor and walls of wood and stone, the house was furnished but the small bed, table, chest and what I _thought_ was meant to be a kitchen space hardly counted as well-furnished despite the anachronistic oven which was clearly the source of the meaty smell.

My attention fixed on the source of the closest noise however noise, a young child, probably eleven or twelve at most with her hands clasped over her mouth and her green eyes shot wide-open in surprise, the spilled earthen jug at her feet (which was miraculously not broken by its fall) indicated that she had dropped it in surprise.

Data compiled in my mind across that brief moment. Most obvious was the paradoxes of the girl's appearance, the gene-alterations that the works had made mild mention of obvious in the muddy red hair, green eyes and freckles over clearly Asian features. Other conclusions from her musculature indicated some atrophy in her vocal cords which explained the unusually croaking character of the grunt and a host of other observations which would be a violation of privacy in a conventional situation.

I immediately concluded that I should probably calm her down since she was probably either related to my benefactor or was monstrously strong considering my enormous body had been moved here from what must have been a considerable distance (the muscle density beneath her worn wool shift making that supposition unlikely. It was obvious to me that the girl was unlikely to be capable of speech, given the atrophy my inhuman senses picked up on in her throat, but no flaws which would dissuade me from conventional communication.

"Do not worry child, I mean you no harm, did you help me?" I attempted to smile reassuringly but I was a little surprised as how different my voice sounded, it was deep before but now it sounded like my voice was taking notes from the Marianas Trench.

Fortunately, the girl steeled herself before shaking her head with a determination that made me wonder if I was particularly frightening in appearance or if it was merely a matter of her never having seen anything like a Primarch before. I hoped that it was the latter since a frightening face was not conductive to making allies.

As she shook her head someone else opened the door which I supposed was behind me and continued towards the child while speaking.

"That would be me actually," She said calmly as she walked around me and I got a better look at her.

Before any other features registered, I picked up on every dimension of threat. She was tall at about 186cm if I had had to guess (although that word was losing some value given the grotesque size of my frame) with a well-muscled but lean frame. The sword sheathed by her hit was worn with casual ease and the clink and taste of well-cared for chain-mail suggested that she was a reasonably confident fighter in mortal terms. No, the manner of her walk and traces of scarring suggested that she was an irregularly dangerous fighter by mortal reckoning.

It was only in the following heartbeat that I picked up on the natural features a human would pick up on first. The dark short-cropped red hair, green eyes and features to match the girl, it was obvious by that and her scent that she must have been a relative of the girl. It shocked me to conclude that she was attractive. She picked up the spilled jug and handed it to the girl before nodding down at her and indicating for her to wait outside.

I watched the exchange without comment as I was evaluating the fact that I _could_ in fact find her attractive (which given my state seemed like a particularly mean-spirited joke), although it was in a strangely abstract way.

Another interesting realization was that she was giving her best attempt to glare literal holes into my head. It was rude of her, but I decided that it was best that I be diplomatic since I had no need to burn bridges. I noticed that she wore well-maintained leathers with what seemed to be a large sack in one hand.

It was vaguely disturbing to look at them as my senses took in far more detail than I was comfortable with, from the scent of sweat to their heartbeats I could analyze just about everything within a few moments before making my best effort to suppress the feeling before I was lost to it. I shook my head deliberately and remembered my manners.

"You have my thanks then, Lady...?" Again I seemed to have made a mistake as she snorted.

"No lady I'm afraid, just a Seeker, like you I wager," she said with mild amusement, the way one side of her lips curled upward and the laugh-lines on her face suggesting that she was often so amused.

"I am sorry, a Seeker?" _Might as well take advantage of the convenient Exposition Fairy since I would rather be well informed_ , there was an ember of humor at the thought.

It was good to retain some positive emotion.

She arched a brow at my question.

"I do not know where else you could have come across that level of enhancement, I have seen some minor work before but you," she whistled, "you had to have hit a major Treasure."

"I am afraid that I do not what you mean by any of that?'" Superhuman mind or not I had to admit that I was not following her.

She stared at me for a moment making an audible 'hmm' before seeming to reach a conclusion and nodding to herself before speaking.

"You awoke in the ruin, right?" I nodded figuring that she meant the ruin, "Alright, a Seeker is what you call people whose coin-making it is to dive deep into the ruins to retrieve the Treasures of the Fallen Ones, we sell those that we can recover to nobles or upstarts who pays enough and sometimes," she pointed at me "those Treasures can really make a mess of your memory."

Although it seemed that whatever Primarch parts were altering my thought patterns they could not block the thought that was lodged in my head by the time she had finished her presentation.

 _Wow, that is convenient_. I had been placed in a world that not only gave a decent if somewhat flawed excuse for my condition in addition to basically being a stereotypical role-playing setting which apparently included their own version of an 'adventurer.' I reached that conclusion quickly but I refrained from answering for a moment to look convincingly shocked before nodding.

"So whatever I found changed me?" She nodded while smiling confidently. "But what about those _things_ I saw in there?"

It seemed prudent to ensure that I was not actually on a world of Chaos Worshipers, because that would be less than optimal.

She scowled at that, "Those are the voidspawn, no one is completely sure just _what_ they are but they are very tough to put down, travel in packs and will reassemble themselves if you give them a chance. They are the main reason why we Seekers have a living in the first place since they make the cities perilous and you need quite a bit of experience to fight effectively." Her scowl defaulted back to a half-grin. "Don't know much of the other side of it, ask a priest if that's your fancy."

I arched a brow at the relevant part of what she said, "So they can be fought?"

She seemed surprised at that, "Of course, would not be able to make much of a profit otherwise, right?" She pulled off one of her gloves and showed me a strange brand on the palm of her hand. "While you need to know how to do it most figure it out if they do not go mad or become possessed, some like me can fight them much more easily it's why they call us Void-banes."

 _So it seems the colonists did not get themselves wiped out by their idiocy after all_ , which if my deductions were correct meant I was speaking to a super-blank without smashing my head into a wall.

Well there was a question for another time.

"Well then you have my thanks, if you do not mind my asking, why did you save me?" Regardless of unique characteristics this was still a world in one of the most horrible realities imaginable and I was not one to trust in altruism.

"Well to be fair, my party and I were preparing to venture into the City-Like-Woods when we found your overgrown ass laying by a stream," she chuckled at that, lips pulling back into a toothy smile. "We need a guide and I figured that you could give us some directions to navigate it by way of thanks. But I guess that is not a very viable option now though."

"I do still recall the corridors I navigated to get to the stream, I do believe I can aid you in this," I said perhaps too quickly but I felt that I had little choice, I needed money and resources, so it seemed that I had very little choice but to make an attempt at this 'Seeker' profession.

It was strange to act so quickly, to not give time to hesitate and fear and doubt. It was so painfully simple to reach a conclusion and act now.

The woman's smile brightened.

"I had hoped that you would say that! Let's get to the tavern and we can fill in the rest of our little group," she smiled widely and I was grateful that she was straight forward enough to waste time. As I began to stand up, came to realize why I had been covered in a blanket when she let out a chocked cough.

"Not that I am complaining but you might want to try some of the clothes I brought," she tossed me the sack that she had been carrying, I reflexively caught it but my mind grinded to a halt when I realized what she was saying and I felt my cheeks rapidly redden, Primarch interference or no. I had been naked since I awoke, I had walked through the ruin and ran through the forest completely naked and was currently standing naked. Maybe this Primarch-y stuff was not one hundred percent beneficial after all…

After a very awkward moment followed by an admittedly sheepish apology I tried the 'clothes' she had brought with her. It turned out she just meant the robes made from knitted together sheets that she had had a local woman quickly sow together as quickly as she could which resulted in me looking like an exceptionally big and shabby monk (which I had to admit to myself was incredibly ironic given what I was) before setting off to the tavern. As we walked through the village I noticed the rampant anachronisms compared to an actual medieval village were everywhere much like the primitive stove in the house there were simple electric lamps even some pieces of more advanced technology scattered throughout the village. When I asked her about them she shrugged and said that the more simplistic concepts of 'ancient knowledge' were never completely forgotten by 'our' people while some of the more advanced contraptions such as the distinctly advanced equipment at the blacksmith we passed were the result of either knowledge or larger Treasures salvaged from the cities.

Another thing which I could not help but take notice of was that the people seemed surprisingly clean by and large and if not particularly healthy still in far better health than I would have expected from a village this small as my guide indicated that it only numbered a few over two hundred people. When she commented that I realized that I had made a major oversight.

"I just recalled that I never heard your name, Lady...?" diplomacy was always a useful tool to me and it seemed only logical to build up rapport with my benefactor.

She laughed a bit before answering, "Name's Morygen and I already told you that I am not a lady, my giant friend. Now that I told you what I'm called why don't you repay the favor in kind if you can remember."

Well I could draw reassurance for the continued use of slightly different variants of mythological names for the world at least. Morygen sounded like someone could not make a choice between Welsh and Celtic myth for a name before giving up and going with a blend.

"I am afraid that it is one of the things that I do not recall. If I may, what offense is there in my calling you a lady?" I knew that it would have been wise to abandon that line of conversation but I unfortunately suffered from both a strong sense of curiosity and an inability to abandon a line of questioning.

She looked over at my eyes while we walked (which I considered mildly impressive given the four feet of difference at least) before answering, "You really don't remember much do you?" I shrugged admitting my ignorance, "Well let me tell you that it won't get you far to go around using unearned titles. I understand you're trying to be polite but I wouldn't go about repeating that to people since they might take it wrong. False Honors, False Faces and all that."

So, my attempts at courtesy managed to fly in the face of local customs, truly a fantastic start. "My apologies Morygen but it does seem that I am unable remember a great deal."

I scratched my head awkwardly while making a mental note to try to collect more information about the local culture in order to prevent more of these errors.

"Well at least your vocabulary was not damaged, so it's not all bad." Morygen said with a chuckle.

I offered her a tight smile, "I do not suppose that there is anything else I should know? I would much rather not repeat the same mistake twice."

She scratched her chin as she walked in thought, "Well I am not what most would call 'polite' but I guess I can give you some pointers." She pulled off one of her gloves and tossed it to me, I caught it and noticed a pattern on the back. I could not easily discern the purpose of the design, although at least one part of it looked identical to the brand I had seen on her hand.

"I suppose that there is some purpose to this symbol? It is the same one you showed me earlier," I figured that it was somehow associated to her blank status.

"That would be my guild brand- why are you chuckling?" She stopped and starred at me with a raised brow. I waved for her to continue while attempting to force composure onto my face. I did not wish to come across as mocking but I could not bite back the quite chuckle. Frankly, it was the greatest show of emotion I had been able to muster since becoming a semi-warp entity. "Well if you can contain your need to be an ass, guild brands mark your affiliation with the guild and status as a Seeker."

Plenty of organizations used markings to give themselves an identity, especially ones that had an implication of status. There was no reason to laugh at the cliche-ridden world I had been trapped in after all, or at the sheer ludicrousness of it existing within the crime against reality that was the Milky Way. Yet I could not help the smile.

"I suppose that I would have lost mine," I offered.

"Oh, no need to worry about that," Morygen waved a hand. "These things happen and Sect are not keen on losing Seekers because they lost their brands or names. Ah, 'Sect' is the branch of our guild here."

"So I might recover my identity if I go to a local guild then?" I deduced. That struck me as a potential problem, my excuse relied on my not having a memory to speak off and so no past to worry about justifying.

"Local Sect, and well, there is a chance," Morygen scratched behind her ear while eyeing me with a perplexed expression. "Although and I hope you don't take this wrong. There won't be much left to match you to."

That was a relief at least as was the large structure we were nearing. I caught the heady scent of liquor and the taste of human sweat along with the sounds of men and women making a raucous. I would broach the subject with her again but I needed to find a more subtle way of learning of this world.

"Ah," she said as if to distract me. Perhaps she mistook my silence for nervousness? "Well I am sure that we can figure it out, let's hope you remember how to drink, eh?"

"I recall that well enough," I forced my lips to curve into a confident 'smile'. Given my state, it was entirely probable that I was well-beyond any capacity to enjoy the altering effects of liquor.


	2. Prologue II

The interior of the tavern was a cacophony. I could hear dozens of conversations ringing at once and what was worse was that my brain could distinguish them all and make sense of them. The rush produced a dull sense of sickness in my stomach, enough to visibly hesitate at the door of the establishment.

I supposed that the sudden silence that crept in with me was a good thing then, enough to let me get my bearings even though their eyes turned to my form instead as I ducked in. At least the pause gave me a moment to get a look for those within.

At least the mutated mass of my mind was well suited for looking over the group and making some general gains in information. They conformed to my rapidly growing framework for the world that I found myself looking at the stereotypical adventurer tavern. A riot of colors in eye, hair, skin, garb and that was the most uniform feature they shared. One woman had a red lens for a right eye, another had a massive musculature straining under plate that did not look natural and I was certain that I saw fangs in the mouth of one old man. Their arms and armor ran the gambit from boiled leather to powered armor with grinding servos, weapons running a similar range. Even their expressions went from stupefied to only mildly interest.

Morygen followed behind me and made a show of laughing at the men and women within, "Come now, you lot! Can't be too envious at a good find, bad luck for next journey and such."

Her laugh was met with a few a few chuckles and interest in me seemed to largely disperse at that, emphasis on 'seemed' as my nerves told me that they had their eyes on me still.

"Come on now," Morygen chuckled by reaching up and slapping my lower back. "Now use blocking the door, eh?"

I nodded and fell in step with her, "So this is a Seeker's place?"

"Not really," she chuckled while scratching her head. "It is a good season for expedition and our reputation for spending too much on drinking is not _completely_ undeserved."

Hmm, well the stench was certainly thick enough. I caught a note in her words however.

"You have a home here," I noted. She had a home it seemed and the little girl had shared a number of her features. That seemed like odd characteristics for a pseudo-adventurer.

"Ah, you are right," she admitted. "I have a strong enough gift to do shallow dives on my own into City-Like-Woods so I do not typically follow the seasonal cycle."

The Blank looked sheepish, "You met Ymer, my little sister. A home and a reasonable life are better for a child than following the cycle."

"You keep saying 'cycle' and 'season' as if I would know the term," I pointed out.

"Just trying to see if I can wake a memory or two," she held up her hands in defense as we made our way down the benches. I noted that what I had thought to be the hill behind the tavern had been hollowed out, the simplest explanation for the size of tavern compared to its exterior.

"The presence of Voidspawn in the ruins waxes and wanes with the seasons, the difference between finding a treasure worth a title and getting torn to bits," she shrugged. "I think you came in with the season probably, not really many others that live hear year round."

"I think you are right," Well that was technically correct, the sort Rogal Dorn would dislike. My breathing ticked up slightly at the realization that I was now trapped in the same world as that as that blunt son of a sociopath.

She nodded, "Oh! There they are!"

She waved at a table with three of the motley advent- _seekers_ waving in return. Two men and a woman, none seemed particularly old. My mind categorically concluded that the larger man and the woman were in the last years of their third decade by human standards while the lankier man leaning against his chair seemed considerably younger.

Morygen pointed to me with a confident smile, "Our friend woke up and he has already agreed to guide us, an auspicious start wouldn't you say?"

"Ah yes, my mother always said an unclad giant was lucky," the youth said as he rolled his pale eyes. He struck me as a cocky sort immediately but not incompetent if I read his posture correctly, there was a tension to his shoulders and the sword at his waist was angled as if ready to be drawn at a beat. "Does he have a name?"

"Not at present," Morygen laughed. "Ector had the right, his treasure wiped his memory."

The big man nodded and put his mug down onto the rough-hewn table.

"Treasures can be nasty things," He said with what I imagined was supposed to be a sagely nod but the man swayed from his drink. "If you aren't careful they can be as much a pest as a prize."

"So it would seem," I offered with a diplomatic smile or the best that I could simulate, a literal giant was never comforting. "My name is of no great consequence."

They gave me looks of confusion while Morygen coughed, "I will explain it to him later, for now let's get some drink in him and plan."

She took a seat and called at a passing boy for some name whose meaning was beyond me but I assumed was some sort of intoxicant from the fact that she ordered two. She turned to me and was about to offer a seat before she hesitated.

My weight would rumple the wooden chair easily enough so I sat down on the straw on beside the table, fortunately the massive size of a Primarch resulted in my still being at eye level with most of them.

…It almost made having to keep a wary eye on the ceiling of the structure worth it.

I picked up some more information from their introductions.

Apparently the three composed a Seeker group that frequently contracted Morygen when the ruin-tide (something to be said for double-entendre I supposed) abated in the local ruin.

"A void-bane makes our work much easier," the younger man explained with an easy smile. "And Morygen is such fair company."

Morygen snorted at that as two flagons were brought to the table, "He is certainly a slow one Ector, funny though."

The boy did not seem bothered by the critique as he spread his arms in a gesture of mock-helplessness, "Ah, then I will gladly be a jester if that will please you."

I forced a laugh to match the others before taking a drink of my flagon. The dulled emotions managed to inspire irritation which I in turn had to quell. I wondered what was the reasoning for neutering my positive emotional range while leaving my negative range very much intact, perhaps that said more for my 'maker' than anything else.

He could at least have made me able to enjoy the taste of ale, instead I merely found a half-dozen component tastes while my physiology moved to eliminate the poison.

I opted to not dwell on my disappointment and refocused on the conversation to distract from my eternal sobriety and continue building my mental profiles for the small group.

The younger man was apparently a nephew of the elder man, 'Trystane' amused me distantly as his name carried on the unfailing tradition of predictable names. He spoke confidently but the way his eyes went back to his uncle in confirmation every few words suggested that he was new to the trade.

Aside from the swaying and stench of drink, it did not seem like misplaced trust. The man supplied advice and measured words in a manner that implied little could surprise him in the ruins, closer inspection suggested that he might well be older than I had initially.

"I got lucky some years back," he responded when I asked. "Found an old place and came out with a few decades lost for it."

"Would you not prefer to sell it?" I asked, I was still uncertain about the details of how the profession made their fortunes.

"Not necessarily," Morygen supplied. "If you find something that is useful to the job, being alive is better than some more coin."

"Arms, armor and physical gifts," Trystane counted off. "You are typically going to keep, lesser examples and other pieces typically sell very well."

I was only introduced in passing to the mouse-like woman that remained quiet as the others spoke.

"Iseult," She said in a light but disinterested voice when I noted as much.

"Don't mind her," Ector shook his head. "You will not see many that know as much about the Fallen Ones and their oddities. She is a terrible talker though."

"I do not speak for its own sake," she rebutted quietly while eyeing me.

We slipped back into conversation as I recounted most of my route throughout the ruins and they shot ideas back and forth about possible routes. We quickly came to the conclusion that if conditions allowed it, we would return to the ruins within a week's time. I needed time to acquire _some_ ability to defend myself. At that point they devolved into idle chatter which I found of little use, so I only paid peripheral attention while trying to get a better grip on my inhuman senses.

By the time that Morygen was ready to leave I could divide the scents and sounds into neat categories. I could still not tell one hormone from the other in those scents and it was hard to tell people apart by scent but Rome was not built in a day.

I felt a mild pang of embarrassment when I left the tavern and realized my presumption.

"I have troubled you enough," I told Morygen awkwardly. "I will find a place to stay-"

"You have no coin," Morygen noted with her arms crossed. "And giant or not, my home is better than sleeping out in the cold."

 _You would think_ , I mused as I recalled that one of my 'relatives' was literally raised by wolves, naked and in the cold without issue.

I took her point however and it would have been rude to deny the offer, "Then I will not deny your charity."

"Charity," she snorted. "That is a funny word, wait until you try Ymer's cooking before you call it 'charity'."


	3. Prologue III

**Chapter III: Prologue III**

2nd Day of Silver Fall, 3315th Year Gwyar's Winter.

It was not terrible.

That was high praise in its own right given that I could scarcely taste anything normally, even an iffy taste was a welcome relieved. Certainly better than my over-engineered tongue feeding me a series of ingredients to the point of pleasure or distaste vanishing in the process, it would take some time to beat back the flow of data on that front, I suspected.

'What the hell are you feeding me?' was a relative improvement to that.

Although it was an exaggeration, I _could_ taste something similar to venison and buckwheat in the stew.

"It is good," I attempted a smile to the small girl from where I sat on the ground next to their small table. The 'house' only contained a single room and was not especially large, so I hugged against one of the walls while the child sat on the beg and Morygen took the cot I had previously slept on (which I now realized was her own 'bed').

Bright green eyes blinked in confusion at my words while Morygen laughed from her own bowl of the brown stew, "You are a brave one."

The girl gave him a hesitant smile and nodded with enthusiasm.

"You will have to forgive her," Morygen laughed as she pushed her sister's red bangs back behind her ears and petted her head. "I assure you that she appreciates the sentiment."

It did not seem polite to point out that I had known from the second I saw her that the girl was mute for some reason or another.

And I tried very hard to ignore that my brain allocated the probable cause to some sort of trauma, it was not my business to delve into the affairs of those who were being so charitable with me.

"I have no doubt," I kept my attempt at a smile on while I raised another spoonful into my mouth. I was distantly grateful to my hosts for not laughing at the silliness of the proportionally tiny spoon clutched between two massive fingers to deliver a tiny portion into my mouth. "Does she cook often?"

"Since she had three years," Morygen explained while a self-conscious finger scratched at her cheek. "Never been much of a cook, I'm afraid. Would not bet that you would consider my attempts edible at all."

I might have asked why a child would have to cook but I had enough common sense to understand why and enough empathy left to not ask further. By some means or another, they did not have a mother or a father in all probability.

It was a natural enough course of events, their world did not have the tools to fight off every assortment of disease and there was always a possibility that they shared their daughter's dangerous trade.

"Your experience shows well," I smiled at the girl again instead. My enhanced eyed noted the minute change in the temperature of her cheek at the compliment but then again, everyone liked to be praised, even shy people.

"Now you are just teasing her," Morygen said between mouthfuls, the elder sister ate with a fast and ferocious pace as if she was practiced at avoiding actually having to taste the meal.

"I mean what I say," I shrugged my great shoulders, careful not knock something over.

There were worse things than flattering one's hosts, moreso when they were one's only ties in the world.

The meal was occupied by a few other such comments while I used the chance to catch my reflection in the stew. It was interesting that my senses saw the reflection of my face as it were a clean and freshly polished mirror.

What I saw banished the last doubts about what I was.

The books I had read had always made so much about 'transhuman dead' the phenomena that made the features of an Astarte's strange and overwhelming to 'mortals'. Instead I was not terribly bothered by it, no more than the general surprise at my scale that I had garnered from the villagers.

My features were strong and heavy to be sure, yet lacking any evidence of gigantism despite their clearly inhuman scale. Which marked me as not being from that breed.

More troublesome was what lay in the remainder of my features.

All Primarchs had looked alike in the pictures of the old army books I had read in my last days, when their tales had been one of the last comforts in my sickbed. Their features had all been alike at a core level, each a different iteration of the same fundamental schema which would have made of all of them something like near-identical brothers.

And it seemed that I was no different.

The nose was the same roman nose that the images of my 'brothers' had possessed, the brow was towards the heavier end of the spectrum, the eyes were bigger and the mouth was thinner lipped than that of others. The skin was the same Anatolian shade that I suspected my progenitor had once had (if he even had a tone in truth given his fondness for shapeshifting), an oaky color which was not altogether different than the one I once had.

Were it not for the last features I observed, I would have observed that my features were cast with what I could only described as 'studiously disinterested'.

So after a long life in the business of diplomacy, I had come into my new life resting bureaucrat-face. Lovely.

My last features were the only distinctly interesting thing about my face by primarch standards.

The color I made out in my hair and my eyes was the only thing that I found objectively startling. Both were grey, not at all the color of steel or iron or some other flattering comparison, instead I had a mottled and frankly dull tone which was more like water one used to clean brushes.

Not only had I been reborn with the expression of a bored bureaucrat, I looked like an old one at that (if one ignored the lack of wrinkles).

As the meal neared its end I shared my observation, "I do not recall having the hair of an old man."

"Maybe you are one," Morygen noted wryly. "An old man out for his last seeking and found the Treasure to restore his youth! Romantic sounding, isn't it?"

I snorted, somewhat surprised at how genuine the reaction was.

"It does sound nice doesn't it?" She chuckled while the little girl collected the empty bowls and took them to counter. "It does seem a little void-like I will admit."

I stopped for a moment as I mauled the implication while recalling one of the stories that I so frequently read in another life. "I do not think that I am possessed."

"Possessed?" Morygen frowned before shaking her head and holding her arms out in apology. "I'm sorry, that was rude. No, if it had to do with the void we would not have found you."

I almost blinked in surprise, "Why?"

Morygen seemed to match my own surprise before chuckling awkwardly, "Sorry for that. I should stop assuming that you know these things. Voidspawn and what they touch cannot leave the cities of the Fallen Ones. Actually, you'd be surprised how often they sneak into Treasures."

"How?" I asked. Despite myself I was actually happy after a fashion, the curiosity was not a bad emotion and more to the point it was an emotion that I could enjoy without any dampening.

It also drew my interest that there was anything that could actually keep the grimdark-powered cheating that was chaos omnipotence.

But Morygen shrugged helplessly, humor at my sudden outburst evident. "Can't rightly say about that. Seekers, priests and scholars have more ideas about than I think are really importanr. As far as I can tell, well."

She leaned back in her chair as in thought.

"I think a good story should come after a meal together, don't you think?" Her smile had some mischief in it.

Given her profession, I suspected that she was used to attempting to rapidly build rapport with the bands that she agreed to work with. Mercenary or not, it was worth it to have some ties to those whose hands your life would be in.

"I like to hear stories," I encouraged the willing exposition fairy. I wished that I knew how to force the amusement forward.

"Well if you insist," she laughed. "I once saw a man, well more a boy but so was I back then. Anyway, he found this sword. It was a pretty sword lacquered in all sorts of fancy patterns and the others were insistent that it was real pretty. Void-stuff always has pretty colors for other people."

She shrugged, "It is all as grey as your hair to me. Anyway, he picks up this sword, next thing you know he is cutting through the voidborn like a scythe through wheat. And the next thing you know we were at edge of the ruins. And then."

Her smile turned to a frown, "He could not leave. We did not think it was corrupted at first, we did not know what it was. You never think that it will happen to you, you hear the stories but you ignore them when you are young and unblooded."

I rested my chin between my hands as she continued to reminisce while the little one scrubbed at the plates.

"He started getting erratic, insisting that he would get out. It seemed like nerves but before you know it, he was on about wanting to conquer the whole of the world. He said that he would not sell it like we do with the better things," She shook her head. "That is generally a hard to miss sign. A Treasure is a Treasure but that sort of talk is madness, more so when he started talking about rivers of blood and mountains of skulls."

"And what did you do?" I asked when she paused.

The look in her bright, green eyes was a sad one.

"He tried to get them to kill me," She sighed. "Blamed me for his inability to leave, some nonsense about me being a monster. That was all the sign we needed. They don't like Void-banes and it always gives them away."

"You killed him," It was not a question.

"Yes," she nodded. "Tossed the ugly grey thing back into the ruins and left his body where it was, it was as tainted as the sword. Bad business, I turned down the pay, we ended up without Treasures to sell and it left a bad taste to be paid for killing their friend."

Her expression seemed a touch pained for a moment at the last but before vanishing under her smile she raised her shoulders and spread her arms, "So no, you do not have void-stuff."

I offered another forced smile, "I hope that is not too disappointing."

"I will live," she said with an easy smirk. "But the point is that I would not worry too much about the hair."

"I suppose that being dull is better than being trapped in some ruin," I agreed.

The younger girl tapped my shoulder and I turned to see her offering me a smoking cup. The source of the herbal smell.

"Her tea is actually good," Morygen suggested as I took the cup in hand while the little one darted back to the small kitchen and back with a cup for her sister with a maternal smile.

I sipped and tried to force back the rush of nutritional information with mixed results. It was not too sweet but there was a bit of a tang to it that my brain immediately identified as originating from a distant descendant of an orange.

"Good," I smiled at the little girl again. Her blushing retreat was amusing in its own way but I forced the emotion forward into a shake of my head.

I wondered how strong the impulses of the others had to be for them to be able to produce such great reactions? I would need to work on that if I want to be the least bit personable.

"So," the elder blank asked as she sipped along happily. "All else aside, I plan to show you around the village tomorrow, if it is all the same to you."

"You did not today?" I asked.

"Well I guess I did at that," she admitted sheepishly. "But it is important to get to know some of the folk."

I wondered at that. By rights I should be busy trying to conquer the world while attracting more followers than possible despite being all sorts of abrasive.

Then again, I was not a Primarch in truth.

"I would like that," That time the smile was more genuine.


	4. Prologue IV

**Chapter IV: Prologue IV**

2nd Day of Silver Fall, 3315th Year Gwyar's Winter.

It was not that I could not sleep, I suspected that I could do that at will if I had the inclination.

But my new body did not need a great deal of sleep (or any, for that matter) and time was a valuable thing. Time to think and time to plan.

Going over the past day's events, how I might have ended up where I was, it was not a matter of rejecting it.

I could accept my situation with unnatural ease. I knew that in all likelihood it was the work of Chaos as most any event free of explanation was inevitably an ill-omened thing.

That I could even accept the missing faces of my granddaughter, my daughter and even my decade-dead wife. My long dead parents, my siblings, friends, coworkers and family were an echo at best. It was an odd feeling.

I mulled over the world that I had been trapped in, both the planet that I did not have name for and the larger galaxy. There was always a fitting element to the world that a Primarch was sent to.

But that had its own risks. This was a world where Chaos was a known part of life, an ill-understood specter to be sure but still something better understood than most. That meant that this was a world that could easily fall under threat if the wrong elements of the crusade found it.

By which I meant orbital bombardment.

But if they were the right ones… well Nulls do not grow on trees and neither does the ability to contain chaos outbreaks. A world where Blanks could steadily show up in bloodlines like the sisters and the technology allowed could be priceless if I could sell it right.

Which all begged the single pressing question.

What did I want?

It was a strange thought, I had not had to think about such things for decades and now I had to decide a great deal if I wanted to keep my head above the daemonic water.

And I seemed to be at something of a disadvantage.

By my estimation I was some 310cm in height, monstrously tall to be sure but about average compared to what I knew about the heights of my future peers. I had no way of knowing how I would weigh any other baseline characteristics against them but I could expect that I had some troubling deficiencies compared to the real Primarchs.

That was to say nothing of the greater problems presented by my lack of any of the unique gifts that the others had possessed. I did not possess any intuitive knowledge of everything around me (for the most part), any urge to craft masterworks out of nothing nor did I even know how to fight and I certainly did not feel any newfound insights in strategy or governorship.

That left me with two options, either hope against hope that I was surrounded by enough nulls and blanks to keep the emperor from finding me or I would be left with no choice but to find something to be useful in and to try to acquire some sort of skill before I was found and jeered into oblivion.

There was a lovely thought to be sure.

A Primarch was brilliant beyond comprehension, making wonders out of scraps that had no place being given such purpose. They were researchers that could outpace civilizations in their projects, logisticians that could allow for galaxy-spanning empires run with supreme efficiency or assassins that could hide from the eyes of gods.

I was comparatively basic coding given infinite processing space, a civilian given in the potential for the greatest of martial prowess. Honestly, it seemed like a waste for someone like myself to wield it.

But that was indulging in self-doubt and shame. Neither were useful tools, I had time in all likelihood before I was found if I ever was and I at least had some potential.

I needed to focus on something and for the time being I had to worry about preparing for the expedition ahead of me.

Which meant fighting demons.

I had no illusions of avoiding them, I was well-aware that I was the juiciest steak in the world for a demon. Dampened emotions or not, I was still human enough that I would be distracted by the psychic resonance that they gave off with none of my 'brothers' arrogance and self-assurance to fend them off.

I would have to pin my hopes on Morygen for that, I had read a great many books on the world around me but that meant little due to the inconsistencies within. The effectiveness of a blank was one such example, sometimes a random null of minor potency could scare off demons easily enough despite having no training while in others the Emperor's elite super-Blanks could be slain by lesser demons.

It might be possible to question Morygen after her own experience, although that ran the possibility of being perceived as rude and it struck me as ungrateful. Less charitably, there was the risk the woman might misrepresent her prowess and experience. She did not seem the type though, certainly the story she had told suggested nothing of dishonesty. My own inhuman senses had also indicated that she was an irregularly dangerous human, but I was not confident enough in them to take my assumptions as facts.

When the expedition was over, I could think about moving forwards, while I was lacking to survive in the greater galaxy, I might be able to make a good living in a fairly primitive world.

I sighed in the dark, a low grumbling sound that sounded like a distant avalanche. Which was ridiculous.

I could not fathom what need there was for such a large and exaggerated body, it would be more useful to be as awesome in a less cumbersome form. An idle thought wondered how grotesquely over-sized my taller siblings would be, or the Size-Shifter of Mankind.

"Can't sleep?" I had heard her getting up of course but she was quiet in the night nonetheless, a good sign for her abilities.

There was hardly that much space in the house, my immense bulk occupied so much space that much of the furniture had to be pushed up against a wall in order to allow me to sleep on the floor.

"No," I lied. Humans needed a deal of it and I was wary of inspiring fear or worse confidence beyond my actually ability. "And yourself?"

Morgen snorted softly while she eased herself down to sit next to my head.

"I am not much of a sleeper," she shrugged. "Sorry for Ymer, she's a good girl. But those like us tend to make for quiet children."

Said child was completely asleep on the other hand, her breathing and heartbeat suggesting a deep REM sleep.

Although the use of plural was odd.

I very deliberately arched a brow, she saw me well enough in the moonlight and laughed quietly.

"Yes, even me," she smiled before bringing a callused hand to scratch her chin. "You really got it bad, didn't you?"

That reconfigured my lips into a small smile of my own, "Perhaps a touch."

"I have never gotten that kind of luck myself," she admitted. "I am not sure I would use it myself."

"Why not?" I asked.

"A good enough Treasure and you can move up in the world," she laughed quietly.

Hello exposition, "Is that so?"

"It's only fair I tell you," she shrugged. "My mother's father was an Oath-Master, second only to the Sect-Master in Gwyar's capital."

"And you wish to earn a similar renown?" I suggested. Ignorant of the meaning or not, I would have to be dense beyond human to not understand some of the framework of what she was suggesting.

"Yes," she chuckled. "We do not serve kings or kingdoms, we hunt in the depths of the ruins and sell them to those who will pay a fair price. What they do with that is their business."

 _That sounds chaotic_ , "I am genuinely surprised that is allowed."

"Depends on the strength of the ruler," she shrugged. "If the dynasty is powerful then they buy everything and if they are weak then their nobles buy and use them against each other."

I frowned at that, both the gut reaction of my body and my own consciousness were of a mind at such a messy arrangement.

"I can see the frown on your face," She smiled in the dark. "You would have liked my father, he also liked the old tenets."

I did not see a need to answer, she understood now that she would have to explain everything.

"Seeker guilds, both those our lands are those farther off were founded to try and reclaim the ruins. Founded by the greatest Void-banes to survive the catastrophe that gave the Fallen Ones their name," It seemed like she was reciting an old tale from the way her eyes unfocused. "Restoring the world and vanquishing the void became providing for their people and then to selling it to survive when the people lost their patience."

Some bitterness slipped into her tone as she continued her story, "So the guilds fragmented, we split into seven across the great lands of the world and more than that. We became content to feed the wars for survival rather than strive for something better."

She caught herself when she realized that her tone been raised, "Sorry about that. I always get too opinionated it's unbecoming. Gwyar is a better place than most, its old and deep into winter here."

"I do not mind," I said. It was good to know that my host did not subscribe to such a wasteful attitude. Although I realized that the decline probably had less to do with deliberate harm and more with hard circumstances and people doing what they could to make due.

I also cataloged the name she mentioned, the way she used those words had some deep meaning, I was sure of that.

"Then you are an odd one," she mused. "But I would thank you not to mention it. Foreigners are my customers and I would rather not have them speaking of my views. They are not great for business."

I wondered if that was prompting? There was a good chance that this was my que, a reason to move forward and take the world.

There was a thought but it was only a thought.

"I do not intend to," No, it was only a thought. It was not my cause, I was not ready for that sort of grand ambition.

"Good," She whispered her thanks.

"Why foreigners?" I asked mildly. "You said that you were part of the local guild. Will they not hire you?"

"Sect," She corrected absentmindedly. "Silver by Justice." There was a smile as she said the words like an often repeated prayer. "And... it is complicated."

"Very well," I said immediately.

"Not for any wrong I did," She said suddenly, more force in her voice than I thought she intended. "Sorry, I am not sure why I said that."

 _Because Chaos?_ I chuckled internally, it was a reality of madness after all. But I did not mind to hear her story, I had only known her for the day and I found myself liking the Blank scavenger.

"Because you want an ally?" It was a reasonable conclusion. I was not averse to it, I did not have any real objective to helping her until I had a course of action

"Maybe?" She asked. It seemed more a general question than one for me in particular. "Well, I bothered you enough. Best get some sleep."

She returned to her cot again, leaving me to think farther.

So I spent the night in thought, forcing myself into sleep only an hour or two in total while I puzzled out what course was appealing.

I came up with nothing.


	5. Prologue V

**Chapter V: Prologue V**

9th Day of Silver Fall, 3315th Year Gwyar's Winter.

I imagined that menial labour was below the standards of most of my kin after they hit their maturity. But then again, they were kin in only the loosest of terms so it mattered little.

Sometimes I helped the smith at his forge as a laborer beneath his apprentices, other times I helped the tenants with their field work and even learned to make bread with the help of a baker.

The villagers seemed to taken well to me and the opportunity had provided more than just good will.

You learned from experience, and one thing that had not escaped me was a continuing hunger for context.

From the baker, I learned that Gwyar was their home, proud for have stood as long as any could remember.

From the smith, I learned that others who shared his grey skin and powerful frames were called 'Ollfast' and that the majority of the kingdom were of the 'Gancean' ethnic group.

From the old village shrine-keeper I learned the basics of their vaguely faith, an eclectic pantheon of Shinto-like animist beliefs which orded thenself around eight great foes of the Void of Dreams (the Warp).

With the old books of a merchant, I accounted for millennia of linguistic drift to fully aclaimate myself to the Gwyarien dialect (belatedly learning that the mild adjustments I had automatically been making was a form of Seeker-Cant) and becoming literate in their writing system.

Bit by bit, I pieced together the world around me. Aided (alright, done mostly) by tbe brilliance and perfect memory of a Primarch's mind.

It was all going quite well, save for one sticking point that might not have escaped them but which I had failed to notice until Morygen mentioned it a week into my time in the village.

"You need a name," Morygen mentioned one midday as I sat near the farmhouse of a local farmer, taking in the sun. "'The giant' is not a great name."

 _Not to mention that it will sound beyond ill-fitting someday_ , "You are not wrong."

Morygen nodded as she looked at the other hands finishing the harvest around them, their own bundles were neatly stacked and loaded onto carts. The fat cow-like deer analogues pulling them towards the threshing circles.

"I have an idea about that," She said, woth the quirk of the lips indicative of a good mood.

"Do tell," I prompted.

"How about Ailbe?" She suggested and I scented some nervousness hidden beneath the confidence.

 _There is a meaning there_ , I considered.

I was also now able to literally smell nervousness, it was weird.

"It is just an idea of course," Morygen said quickly.

"No, I rather like it," I insisted. A name was good, a name would give me a more real presence to them and make it easier to integrate myself into the community.

Her smile was toothy at that as she cracked her neck and began to stretch in an effort to shake off the stiffness.

I felt some continued annoyance as I watched her, _would a normal height and full functionality have really been that much to ask for?_

It was an irritating position to find oneself in but I knew that it could scarcely be helped, my maker had not been the biggest fan of making beings capable of engaging with humans on many levels after all.

"Well," Morygen said as she went over her calisthenics, a very broad grin on her face. "I have another errand, so I have to run Ailbe."

She seemed pleased by the last word while I raised a brow.

"May I be of assistance?"

I did not much mind when a half hour later, I found myself helping the daughter of the local blacksmith and her newly wed husband build their house.

"It's funny," Morygen commented as she hammered in some nails across from me.

"What Is?" I asked while trying to get the hammer to work with my oversized hand. I had been experimenting with forcing more emotive expressions and body language, it felt a great deal like acting and poorly but I needed it.

"Most Seekers can't be bothered with this sort of thing," She noted. "Edrick is a friend and Ein is a sweet one, but you do not have to help."

She punctuated her words by waving to the couple as they bickered about something or other. The short, grey-skinned blacksmith's daughter paused to wave back with a cheerful smile while her husband slumped in what seemed like sullen defeat.

"True," I acknowledged. "But I want to."

She snorted, "Aye. You want to help everyone it seems."

I was not sure that I agreed with the a pleasent tone she used. I was large, powerful and it cost me nothing to help with as many odd jobs as I could find.

There was nothing of humility i that thought. It had occurred to me that a good reputation never hurt, and I had no shortage of advantages towards realizing the thought.

I could not really call it helping for its own sake and the compliment would have been dishonest to accept.

But that was one of the flaws of my condition, it became easy to overthink things when you had so much speed and cognitive power.

"You are little better," I pointed out instead. As much as I did, it did not escape my notice that Morygen spent the bulk of her time doing much the same. In her case without the benefit of enhancement.

"Eh," she shrugged. "It is different when a place becomes your home. Besides, it is good for her."

She pointed Ymer's tiny form darting around the site, helping where she could with her little jug of water in one hand and some sack or bag in the other as she ran from place to place.

"I can't be selfish when I have her to worry about," she admitted. "If I am private and then die in the ruins, well, not many would think twice to throw her out then."

That she phrased that so casually spoke well of her. Life was not easy there, that much was obvious to me, it would be unfair to expect people to help a stranger who refused to return the favor.

"So you made yourself part of the community?" I asked.

She confirmed with an embarrassed smile, "That was the idea anyway, they're like a rash. They grew on me."

"Then perhaps they will grow on me as well?" I suggested, emoting a smile.

She blinked, "You need to work on your ambition if you want to get farther."

"Ambition is prized entirely too much," I responded.

Ambition had been the cause of many of my vices in the past. Status in return for a cold marriage which wilted over the decades, little love with my siblings and the forced obligation with which my children had attended to my deathbed. No, I had no love for ambition left in me.

Perspective was strange, the man I had been would never have accepted that assessment.

I would not burn another life in offering on the pyre of advancement.

She laughed at my renouncement.

"I do not know about that," she admitted. "What is the point of life if not to try and improve?"

"A good living seems like enough for me," I shrugged.

It was an honest assessment but I privately admitted my opinion was in part informed by the risks. It was tempting to stay hidden in a little village when the alternative was getting literally mauled by extradimensional demons.

It was not fear or a visceral reaction so much as a crystal clear understanding of how overwhelmingly outmatched I would be if I tried to match wits with the wide array of horrors in the greater galaxy.

I only realized that I had gone too far in that line of thought when Morygen tapped my nose, "Are you alright? You seemed out of it for a moment there."

I flinched away at the contact and shook my head. Then I looked _up_ at her.

The red-maned Seeker had taken advantage of my distraction to climb atop the beam and lean down like some acrobat to poke at my nose, a wide smile curling up her lips.

"Just thinking about the expedition," I retorted while to my surprise a burst of amusement brought a small but genuine humor to my expression. "I am uncertain that I will be of aid if it comes down to a fight."

She paused and frowned while scratching her cheek in thought at my words, her other hand and leg idly swinging back and forth as she balanced on the wooden beam. I noticed that Morygen scratched her cheek insistently whenever she was thinking or embarrassed. It had never been hard for me to read people, it had been one of my most useful talents, but Morygen rarely bothered with anything resembling guile.

She snapped her fingers and grinned widely, leaning forwards again.

An hour later we were in a clearing just beyond the woods of the local lord (who was apparently also our intended buyer if things went well).

Trystane looked up at me and cracked a wry smile before looking back at Morygen, "This feels unfair."

"For me?" I asked with a forced smile of my own. He _was_ armed after all and I would have to go into a daemon-infested ruin wearing nothing but my pseudo-robe.

Trystance snorted and poked my arm, "He is literally solid, one good strike and you are going to have to explain to the others where my upper-body went."

"Oh stop your whining," Morygen waved dismissively, it amused me how much the younger man listened to her, she only seemed a year or two his senior. "He needs to learn to fight and you made a great deal of noise about being able to kill Voidspawn with but one hand."

"I have no memory of combat if that reassures you," I offered encouragingly.

"And your average siege-bear does not have formal training," Trystane sighed as he walked a few steps away in the clearing before easing himself into an unarmed stance. "I will teach you a few basic moves, we do not have time for much more. And forget sparing, I am very courageous and all but I dont need it chiseled into my bones!"

I nodded as I imitated his stanc÷n copying his movements as he went through the most basic movements of the katas.

Some part of me wondered what the hell I would call the style which seemed to be a the offspring of half-a-dozen striking martial arts I had seen in passing over my previous life.

"My thanks for this," I commented as I eased myself into another grounded kata.

"You can always repay me by not dying," The youth blonde snortedas he moved, despite his casual words his body language seemed more fluid and graceful than most men I had seen in the sporting events of my first life. He had a killer's grace to him. "If my first student dies with that much advantage I would surely be called a horrible instructor."

"I will try to not disappoint," I chuckled lightly. "Incidentally, siege-bear?"

"A creature of my homeland," The young man answered, not that I knew what that would mean, my knowledge of the world's peoples told me that Trystane was a child of a half-dozen peoples at least. "The result of a Treasure some chieftain unleashed on a rival some millennia back, he got eaten by one if the stories are right. It'd be fitting enough, although I like the one where he got dipped in honey first best, more fitting that way."

 _Huh_ , "Do they resemble normal bears then?"

"Which sort?" Trystane asked, curiousity in his eyes. "They are like a very large Aurum Bear but with an extra pair of arms for a total of eight, hide thicker than a castle wall and a worse temper than a Spawn of the Horse."

I did not understand the last term but I got the general idea, the world had super-bears and they were not remarkable enough to even draw that much awe.

 _Still better than Fenris_ , I thought. _Hopefully… hmm, scratch that actually. Nothing good comes from assuming something good can happen in 40k unless it is back by something horrible that will blow up in my face like a vortex grenade_.

It continued like that for another week, dividing my time between practicing the art that I was privately calling 'don't die like a chump' and helping around the village with Morygen.

Aside from a multitude of grateful nods and a number of free meals, I did not think that I had managed to spur the instant fanaticism that my siblings' excelled in so easily. By my estimate it would still take a few more weeks of effort before I might make it into the category of 'weird but helpful neighbor' which I supposed was better than nothing.

Fortunately, my efforts in enhancing my combat potential were far more productive, by the time that time came for me to meet the others at the village gates I had long-since mastered the art to Trystane's level. He insisted that it was an achievement but it did not escape me that he was far more comfortable with the sword and dirk at his belt. I wished that I had some means to have mastered actual weapons but the power weapons they bore were Treasures while there was no weapon in the village that would fit my frame or survive my gene-crafted strength.

"Are you ready?" Ector asked as he eyed me.

"As ready as I can be," I said with a faint smile. I had done everything that I could to prepare myself for the coming battle, whether that would be enough against daemons was another thing entirely.

"Do not worry," Morygen chuckled as she slapped a hand against my iron belly. "If we come across anything frightening I will protect you."

She was getting entirely too good at reading my mood, which was its own sort of unnerving. I would be pitiably easy to read by the more powerful entities that I might encounter.

It would be shameful if I had become a Primarch, only to lose my poker-face.

"Right," Trystane agreed with a smile. "What is the worst that could happen?"

The others laughed but the words gave me an ominous feeling.


	6. Prologue VI

The actual walk was not too long, a few hours of walking through the long trampled paths to the ruined spires wove through hills and forests enough to leave the great spines of the fallen hives little more than the image of a great resting beast that the villagers paid little mind.

I did not mind the weight of the bulk of our supplies, my gene-crafted body was well-suited to the weight of empty packs and the dried meat, bread and water that we had brought with us.

We split from the road while the sun glowed high above the us and made our way to the glade near the ruins where I had been found.

"You were lucky that you stumbled here," Morygen commented as she refilled the canteens from the stream with a strange filtrating device she had apparently inherited from a friend. "I often use this sight as a launch point."

I nodded as the others took the chance to take quick bites from their rations.

It was my chance to better evaluate them as they tensed in preparation.

By my estimate, Ector was the best equipped which I supposed stood to reason due to his age. The older man wore a suit of old and somewhat patchwork suit of armor which mixed and matched ancient technology with more primitive means. His leg and torso were heavier and larger, with the sound of questionably maintained servos ringing in my ears as he moved with a command pad belted around a leather gauntlet and fed back to the plate through thick cords of hose. His left hand was from a different model which seemed far more advanced and smooth in make, with dexterous enough fingers to interact with the pad. This was combined with some sort of scanner wrapped around his ruddy yellow mane and some sort of pack with an unspecified purpose belted around his waist. His pauper's panoply was complete by a short sword thrumming with life and a field of sparkling energy.

The others were comparatively not so well armed nor armored. I could hear the hum and whirling of machinery under Iseult's robes but I could not garner its purpose, the only thing I recognized were the vambraces, breastplate and gauntlets she wore over the black garb completed with a slight chainsword at her side.

The last two wore rough suits of light mechanical armor that I suspected were anologues to carapace armor but the models seemed different in ornamentation, upkeep and age. Morygen's was an old thing, painted bronze lined with yellow and whining far louder from what I suspected was a lack of maintenance.

I absentmindedly wondered why that last observation bothered me but I put the thought aside quickly enough.

I did find something particularly interesting however, both Trystane and Morygen boasted a pattern of powered weapon that I did not recognize outside of their hilts.

"I do not recognize those," I noted as they readied their arms and armor.

The metal was as pale as ivory and hummed without the visual thrum of air complaining that marked powered weapons in both the books I had read and what I had seen among the Seekers.

Trystane gave me a surprised look before whistling, "You forgot about Fragrach's too?"

I blinked visibly and was thankful for the dulled emotions which kept me from an audible snort. I found it hilarious that some sounds aside, the influences so favored by the original founder made it intact.

"They are good against the foe," Morygen explained as she gave her blade a fond look. It was by far the finest thing I had seen her own, a longsword well-weighted with a hilt wrapped in patterns of painstakingly polished silver with a few dents where I theorized had once rested gems.

I smiled while adding the description to my growing knowledge of the woman, "Then I will rely on it to protect me."

Trystane snorted while waving his white-hilted short 'Fragrach' idly, "I should be hiding behind you rather than the other way around."

There was a smile at that, I had come to understand a great deal about my teacher. He was proud in his abilities and somewhat cocky but there was little pretense of being more capable than he was.

"Of course," I smiled. "I am sure that they will take a while to chew through me."

And some part of me thought that I would be sure to put up a fight if it came down to it, I would rather avoid fighting myself but it was not a boast that I could not feel fear like I had before. I was cautious but not think I _could_ flee again.

Ector shook his head and let out a breath, "No need for dramatics. More like as not we'll not find a thing, certainly not a Voidspawn."

I honestly doubted that, I was likely to draw the attention of the daemons and I was a touch guilty for not telling them of the enhanced risk they faced. It took a surprising effort to not breath a word to Morygen, to warn her of what was within.

I frowned at the nascent attachment but did not say a word.

…

Seeing it with fresh eyes, it was actually beautiful in a bleak way.

City-Like-Woods, that was their name for it. Massive forest a steel trees large beyond imaging with no perceptible top on for the unbroken towers, I idly wondered if they reached orbital facilities as I stared into the vast structures.

I could appreciate the imagery of the title.

The others did not notice my briefest pause as I took in the structure, only Morygen gave me a slight look of curiosity before moving on without comment.

I naturally moved to the front of the part as we entered the tunnels while I heard Trystane assuming the rearguard and Morygen towards the center. I understood the reasoning, her aura was best used from the center and it would allow her to move towards the front or the rear quickly.

"This is not an entrance I have taken before," Morygen commented. "And I have taken all of the common routes."

"Then there is something to be found," Iseult noted with a hungry tone in her voice and I could feel her eyes on the back of my head.

"Or something might find us," Trystane added sardonically, I heard the sound of his gauntlets clutching harder against the blade and the change to his walking pace.

"Or both," Ector said with a pragmatic sigh.

"I did not see anything when I emerged," I informed them again. "But I would not expect to be so lucky twice."

"Then we had best be careful," Morygen said in a quieter tone which ended our chatter.

We made our way through the chambers and halls with a slow and steady pace, so many of the halls seemed to run on forever and the echoes in the far distance of mechanism and rust and vermin were unsettling as they tapped on all of our instincts. It was worse for me, I could hear so much farther now that I was focused on it.

We pressed onwards as I retraced my original route through the way I had once come, we passed the same chambers and the vast market that I had passed before. The hollow chamber still had the same sort of sad beauty I recalled from before and I noticed the others thumbing the embroidery of guild sigils as they passed the countless piles of ancient bones from before.

I made a mental note that something _was_ different from before, the skeletons did not have skulls now.

"Something is wrong," I added quietly.

"Certainly," Ector commented as he tapped the module on his arm. "They are here, quite cluster."

The edge to his voice was moderated by the calmness that I had hoped from the man.

"How far?" Morygen asked warily.

"They are hanging back," Ector added. "It seems that you are holding them off easily enough."

Morygen nodded softly in approval as our party closed in around her and we proceeded down the hall into the path which I was coming towards.

That they were tracking them so easily filled my mind with questions that only produced more questions as my post-human brain ran produced ideas faster than my consciousness could keep up.

The creatures did not appear as I made my way to the old corridor that I had emerged from, the doorway I had broken in the distance.

"We are close to where I woke," I said softly and with a bit of eagerness. I needed the books, they would be a priceless treasure on their own and I was confident that I could copy them to make a small fortune to work with.

It was a greedy sentiment but there was more to it. It might be the paper-shield I needed to justify the world's existence if I was found.

I found the library intact but the previous thought died as I beheld what I had somehow missed before.

The party muttered in confusion as the doors at the rear of the library, great doors ripped from their hinges and shattered.

"That does not bode well," Trystane repeated with a sigh. "Although I am not surprised that you managed it."

I did not remember breaking the doors, that would have been before I woke up.

"The books are of sufficient value perhaps?" I suggested.

There was some uncertainty among the group but Iseult continued on with a snort, "You did this, can you imagine the value of the treasure?"

The group moved past their hesitation and moved on without much debate, we all knew the risks and books were not exactly treasures that gained considerable renown.

I sighed and made to follow them along with Morygen.

"Do not worry," she reassured me with a tap on my abs. "At least we know that you are strong right?"

I nodded with growing anxiety in my stomach.

The doors were thick the metal a twisted bundle of materials as we passed them into a larger chamber.

A chamber larger than anything I had seen before in the spire, a vast structure with only two sources of light in the pitch black. The lights emmited from our armor and the fires.

Fires that burned in the darkness that danced in the dozens swimming around the darkness.

"We found our friends it would seem," Trystane commented as he tensed.

"Around me," Morygen said with a frown. "Not beyond an arm's length, we are outnumbered and badly."

I turned to notice that the lights were also coming from the darkening halls behind us.

"I am throwing the light," Ector warned as he produced an orb from his belt and tossed it upwards and it erupted into a small sun.

The chamber shun to show a graveyard of massive scale, literal mountains of skulls glaring back at us. Millions if not billions of skulls glaring back at us as shadow warred against the light around a vast pit whose bottom I could not see.

Among them were the daemons.

Splayed claws, hooves, long skulls and flat, horns and frills, claws and hands, fangs and swords.

Dozens of the least of Khorne's servants moved towards us.

At least that was what I thought.

Because there was something that I was not expecting.

Instead of the angry blood-like skin, ebon horns or even the faintly red of the previous day…

They were grey.


	7. Prologue VII

The fear did not come.

Their colorless forms circled us as we held at the gate. Behind and before us they massed.

"Will they advance?" I asked.

"Maybe," Morygen breathed as she raised the strange weapon with both her hands clasped to the hilt. It was a stance that suggested cutting rather than piercing. "It depends on where we are."

"They will come," Iseult said with an edge. "Look at the chamber, this is a strong point for them."

The spires of the dead dead were a symbol then or there was something else to it. If I survived I would have to write some sort of guide to these places.

The bloodletters grew bolder while we spoke, slow careful steps forward as they advanced. I was not sure to what degree but I knew that Nulls were far from infallible.

Which meant that I did not know the degree to which they would keep their distance.

I did not have much chance to think further before I heard the crack of bones underfoot and Ector shouted a warning.

"Fifth point!" He shouted an analogue to directions while a bloodletter charged forward with two of its brothers moving forward with it.

I was not sure why I moved but before I knew it I had closed twenty feet to meet the attackers in my unarmored cloak. It felt natural but I was aware that the world around me slowed down to the point where the space between mortal heartbeats felt like ages.

The bones crunched beneath my steps as my body accelerated.

I drove my left foot into the bone and pivoted out of the way of the first grey sword that came howling through the air before letting my extended hand became a blade that drove into the scaly but blood-slicked throat. My momentum, strength and its own haste made the blow akin to an executioner's axe which bit through the neck as if I had been moving through air.

It might well have been as the body collapsed into nothingness but I spared it little thought as I continued on to its companions.

The realization struck me as I advanced however.

I had killed it.

I had actually killed a Daemon and I had done so in the space of a heartbeat.

A smile freed itself from my lips as I slipped into a crouch, going under another upraised blade before striking out again under the upraised arm. My fingers curling into a fist the broke through false-skin and into the semi-real matter beneath even as a leg kicked out and caught the other under a bladed chin, marrying both movements into a single turn.

The world for a brief moment caught up slowly as the bodies broke apart into ash and smoke hungrily devoured by the air as if reality sought to cleanse itself of the taint of their existence.

The power of it was distracting and terrifying.

 _If this is what I can do,_ I thought momentarily. _If I can do this, the arrogance of my brothers becomes something far easier to understand. This is the sort of power that can make a man feel himself the better of gods._

The thought was fleeting however, there were still more Daemons. Whatever caution I had brought with me was vanquished by the intoxicating thrill of the moment as _I_ lunged at the group.

It was insanity, they were so slow that I did not think that they had fully began to react to the deaths of their allies. Jaws stretched in slow, protracted roars and the beginning of lunges.

I was not sure why they were colourless but their reaction spoke of what they were. The rage in their twisted features was not a vengeful or slighted one, it was the sort of petulant rage of having something priceless robbed of them. They wanted blood and I did not think it mattered if it was mine or their's but it did not bother me in the slightest, I did not know why my hearts screamed for me to grant them that.

The blades fell faster and faster as I moved through them with the same strike and kicks that Trystane had taught me in a brief week of effort.

It was strange to realize that I could have enough cognitive power to both devout my attention to weave through them like a needle in a tempest and to have enough spare attention to be increasingly disturbed by what was happening.

Too much was not right.

The Daemons were dying easily, too easily. These were manifestations of violence and slaughter, literally born to murder with hellish sword in hand. Primarch or no, I should not be able to kill them so easily.

As if in punctuation of that thought, a hand wove around a strike and splintered an elongated skull in half.

It would be too easy to shrug it off as my own might but that was not realistic, even if it was I knew that arrogance was the key flaw of the others and even with the thrill I would not fall to it.

I forced myself to calm as I crushed an arm under foot for leverage to break the neck with a descending strike.

If I accepted that something was making this easier then that meant I needed to consider internal and external variables.

The grey of their bodies was a major clue as my mind picked up minutia easily enough but it also helped me recall the sums of lore I had consumed in a past life with what might be deemed avarice. I had read one work from the perspective of a daughter of the emperor, a Null Maiden powerful enough to be among those to be one among fifteen to fell a greater daemon. Yet lesser daemons still braved her presence and fought her when needed as they did against her predecessors some ten millennia earlier.

 _Nulls see daemons as grey,_ I observed as I hissed. I had overstretched myself between strikes and one blow cut through the skin of my forearm, it did not penetrate nearly enough before the beast howled and retreated. _Daemons are also weakened by the presence of nulls._

That raised one of three possibilities. It was plausible that the presence of my ally was dampening them but that seemed highly unlikely, it would explain their weakness but not the color.

The second possibility was that something in the ruins was at work, some misfired technology which had stripped them of color.

The cuts built up as I culled them but the pain was like a dampened, foreign thing that I barely registered.

The third possibility was troubling-no, that was not right in the strange clarity that I had arrived at. A better word was to say 'intriguing'.

I might be a null.

That would explain a great deal.

The bodies had started to thin out as I reached that epiphany.

That was still an imperfect explanation.

If I was a creature such as that then I would not have a soul. But I _did_ have a soul and I was a primarch born as much of warp-stuff as I was of flesh, that was like a bird that could not breath air. If I did have such an ability then it would mean that the Emperor of Mankind was as far more brilliant than I had scarcely imagined.

That last thought dampened the vicious smile on my lips as I twisted the head off of the last monster before me.

 _That is arrogant_ , I chided myself. _There would be disadvantages to it and it would be difficult but if you are making that many primarchs… why not?_

That still begged questions however. If I was a null, then how had the creatures been able to approach? How had they been able to hurt me at all?

Any more contemplation was cut off by a realization.

I had grown too distracted.

And I was not the only prey.

The others were fighting and more importantly, they were surrounded. I could see the grey creatures fighting the four mortals from my elevated position. The creatures were less than twelve but that still favored the daemons and that was never acceptable odds for mortals regardless of how weakened the creatures were.

Ector was bleeding profusely from an ugly gash under the arm of his breastplate as he shouted warnings to the others while he fought off two of the creatures desperately. The older man shielded a wounded Iseult who was laying on the bones short an arm.

Trystane was scarcely having any better luck, he did not seem to have been injured as of yet as he danced with the creatures. That was not an exaggeration, the young man was quicker than I had expected and he survived by moving between them to frustrate their range of motion. But the foe was tireless and my enhanced eyes could see the fatigue starting to drag his movements. But the white sword in his hand drew my eye as it cut through a daemon's sword and arm with a strange, keening sound as it glowed white.

The other sword was the one cutting an impressive tally however. Morygen… the null was cutting through daemons with a patient duelists pace as she attempted to draw as much of the daemon's attention as she could manage. Her sword parried strike after strike and killed when the chance came with precise thrust or a long cut into the creatures.

Daemons had a psychological element to them, it is easier to kill them if you accept that you can. Humans were humans however and I felt a strange pang of protectiveness as they moved towards being overwhelmed.

I spurred myself back towards them with an urgency despite the injuries I had taken. It occurred to me that we would all be better off if I did not choose to rush forward but I put aside that particular mistake for later evaluation.

I howled a roar in an attempt to draw attention to me, reasoning that what injuries I had taken were still relatively minor while my allies were a mistake away from injury.

Regrettably I did cause a distraction.

Morygen looked to me with a look of relief.

And a malevolent blade took the opportunity to fall.


	8. Prologue VIII

I barely noticed the last Daemon die in my focus on the task at hand. I later found myself wondering if I had used the term for my own comfort, to willingly ignore that 'killing' was a gross overstatement. At the time that was lost on me.

I peeled layers of armor off, ripping with raw strength where the buckles were rumpled or broken by age and daemon weapons.

The wounds were numerous as was to be expected but one drew my attention as I got the last of the breastplate off, the robe beneath been too damaged to warrant removal.

The cut was a visceral crevice stretching from small of her back to where shoulder blade met spine. Her armor had borne the brunt of the damage but the blade had made into through the gaps in the back-plating and shard of splintered metal jutted in the gored flesh below. The damage below was worse, her pale skin was frayed and tattered around where the many-toothed blade had struck.

I grimaced at the bone shards that jutted out as broken ribs and the misshapen mass near her shoulder told me that the impact had been enough to crack the bones beneath the shoulder.

My hearts beat faster at the sight and the blood drained from my face even while anger boiled under the surface.

I had only known her for a fortnight but there was anger at her state. At myself for distracting her, at her for being distracted and at those beasts for existing in the first place.

I felt a hand rest on my shoulder, I felt enough from the touch and the breathing to know that it was Ector.

"Let me look at her," he said as he pulled one of the packages from his belt and kneeled down next to her. I did not resist but I clutched her wounded frame possessively. "The injury is a shallow enough but we need to treat it quickly before it infects or cripples her."

I nodded minutely while staring at her closed eyes with a heavy frown.

Ector unfolded the package to reveal a strange circular device. The pale construct was webbed with long lines that my gene-crafted sight revealed to be filled with small openings.

The older man held the device over the wounded woman and started intoning words in Old High Gothic with a strange sort of reverence. As he quietly chanted the synonym the device glew with a pale golden light which poured out of the device and into Morygens torn back.

There was nothing mystical about the device, the chant were a series of authorization codes and over-wrought instructions to control the horde of clicking nanites that were setting to work on her back. It was slow-going but I saw them beginning to weave together the splintered flesh and tug the shrapnel of her armor away.

I looked up to see Trystane trying the same over Iseult's body with his own device. Ector's scanner was silent and they had retreated back into the library.

"This is a disaster," I assessed sourly as the small creatures did their work.

Ector shook his head however, "Are you mad? It can't be helped if we were surprised, we slew dozens of the bastards."

Trystane scoffed from where he worked over the other fallen woman, "We? The Ailbe did all most of the killing from where I am sitting."

"Aye," Ector nodded. "We are in both of your debts."

I raised a brow in distant curiosity as I traced the gradual reparations at work, if the speed was constant then it would take days to fully repair the damage.

"The?" I asked. "I had thought that it was to be my name?"

Ector frowned while Trystane snorted, "It's a family name, tradition among some of the old guard is to lend the name to a friend should they have their own memories robbed."

"Huh," I said with distance. _Kind of her to do that for a stranger, a debt to repay then._

"That was some treasure," Trystane noted. "I have never seen someone cut their way through the Voidspawn like Galtine reborn."

"I was lucky," It was a false modesty but I had claims of ignorance to back up. "It seems that my treasure was a good find."

"I would say," Ector sighed. "But we are left with a problem."

"A problem?" Trystane let out a bitter bark. "I would say that a 'problem' is an understatement."

I understood his meaning, we were in the middle of the ruins and down nearly half of our numbers which meant that we would have to carry them back safely. We also had finite supplies and could be attacked by Daemons at any time.

We were not in a good place.

"Yes," Ector sighed as he whipped his blood-stained control tablet. "It will take hours before it is safe to move them and there is still a build-up in the region."

"And by then it will be sunset," Trystane shook his head.

"I am not sure I understand?" Supplies aside, we had a day's worth of supplies if it came down to it."

Ector looked to me and gave a slightly irritated frown, "The tide is always worse at nightfall, this place is damned dangerous enough."

"Perfect," Trystane muttered. "This was supposed to be a quick and easy trip. No use complaining though, we need to figure out how we are going to make it through the night."

I sighed and unslung the supplies on my back with a single hand while I held her with the other.

I should not have been surprised that the supplies had not fared well. The pack was in tatters and wet where the containers had been smashed.

"We will need water too," I sighed.

Both of us eyed Ector expectantly, awaiting for the older man to give us a plan to work with.

"There are often old pipes and preservation chambers near the old gathering places," He said thoughtfully as he spread a grey substance over his wounded side.

"There might be one nearby?" I asked. The atrium of skulls had likely once been a market or similar structure.

"That is my think," the veteran nodded.

With little else to do, we were left to wait.

After a time Ector showed me how to use the strange restorative device he called a Nua-stone. It was not hard to recall the passcodes and movement patterns. The device struck me as useful enough to try and understand, something to offer if I was found.

 _The more you offer the less they will take_ , I mused.

Once I understood its use I was able to take over administering to Morygen's form while the elder man took the surviving salvage packs and began loading the smaller books from the library. We needed _something_ to make the trip worth it even if we survived.

"Must be nice to forget about deals," Trystane gave a half-hearted laugh. "We need _something_ to take back to the lord."

"That seems ill-considered," The Seeker profession seemed entirely too dangerous and haphazard for prearranged deals.

"Of course it is," The man rolled his eyes. "It is what it is, we promised the lord a worthy gift and it is our failing if we fail though."

"Why would you promise it, if I might ask?" There was some curiosity that penetrated my concern for the prone woman.

It was also interesting that the younger man stiffened at my words, it had less to with the motion itself and more with his effort to suppress the reaction. There was something to more to their bargain then.

It also did not escape my attention that his eyes shot ever so quickly to Morygen before returning to his own charge.

I did not push further however, it was mildly interesting but I was more concerned with humming the passcodes and watching the way the nanites reacted to each command. It was not an exercise meant to treat her state as casual, I was seeking for anything that could allow me to try and improve on the movement of the small constructs below.

I could not experiment a great deal but I was able to decipher the meanings behind a few commands enough to realize that the full length chant was essentially running a full body diagnostic on the body and repairing the encountered damage. After some consideration I began shaving steps off of the full chant and substituting some of the words. It was trial and error but eventually the light of the nanites narrowed further and further until it was only her exposed torso that was being covered by the small machines.

"How are you doing that?" Trystane asked with vague interest,

"Just a hunch," I offered with a small smile while repeating the pieces of code that was needed. It was a hunch in truth, since I was not saying anything more complicated than 'run upper-body diagnostic' followed by a command code. "I do not think that I can get it to work better than that."

"Huh," Trystane snorted while eyeing Iseult. The woman's breathing had stabilized and most of her wounds were visibly healed, "That might count as a treasure in and off itself."

I smiled but that was not the point, the increased pace of the repairs was. I did not want to risk the night, I was not certain if I could survive it and I was almost sure that my allies would expire if we did risk it.

Once her breathing had stabilized and the wound had sealed I let out a breath of relief.

"That was quick," Ector said with an equal relief in his breath. "We might make it out of hear yet, can you carry them both?"

I nodded while already picking Morygen tighter to my chest and picking Iseult up to her side gently. It was not the best arrangement but it was the best that could be managed.

Once I had them secured we left the library.

"They seem to be avoiding us," Trystane noted as he held his sword ready along with Ector. The older man shook his head at his nephews words.

"No, they are still here," He muttered as he eyed his device. "They are avoiding us but they are not too far off."

That did nothing to help with the tension.

The same market-like chamber from before did not reassure me.

Blood-caked sigils raced along the walls now. Taunting words carved into the steel.

"Always the poets," Ector spit.

Trystane actually smiled just a bit at that, "It is reassuring is it not?"

"What is?" I asked as I studied the message over the exit we planned to take.

 _We have your birth, your secrets, run coward, run now, your skull is his to claim._

"It is good to know that whatever else they are, they are petty," the young Seeker explained. "It makes them more real, more foes to fight than monsters out of nightmare."

I snorted at the thought.

 _You are not wrong_.

We managed to escape the ruins before night fell.

I was certain that I would return however.

And next time. Next time I would be ready.


	9. Prologue IX

Ymer had not spoken once since I met her, I had wondered if she was a mute or perhaps scarred in some way. I had not asked of course, it was not my place to infringe on the matters of my hosts. That was not to mean that she could not communicate when she had the inclination.

The pain in her eyes as she looked over her sister's sleeping form was telling, as was the wail of pain when she saw her limp form in my arms.

The other had moved into the small house as well on our return, Iseult needed a place to heal and the inn they were staying was insufficient. I also knew that it was dangerous to advertise the wounds more than strictly necessary, they had their treasures and were of a foreign guild besides.

Only the sleeping women and the girl were present at that moment however, the others had left to get appraisals for the books while I overlooked them with a Nua-stone in each hand.

I smiled at the small girl with my best attempt at reassurance.

"She will recover well," I offered.

She turned and regarded me with a tired sort of suspicion, she had grown warmer to me during my stay but it was clear that she felt vulnerable without her elder to protect her. She gave me a breath nod that seemed like forced confidence from the small girl, I could literally smell her apprehension after all.

"I will ascertain it," I said. I had grown attached to the sisters, it was a curious thing as I had not been so quick to attachment in a past life but now I found myself becoming possessive of people that I had only dwelled with for a few weeks to the point of feeling a very real anger at the things in the ruins.

The girl gave me a curt nod before refocusing on the sleeping form of her elder sister.

"Have you eaten yet?" I asked to show concern. It was a silly question, if the girl had not learned to feed herself then I would be hearing the growls of an empty stomach.

She sighed and gave me a stubborn nod, it was probably a question she heard often and was not fond of.

My first thought was corrected as a small growl intruded on the silence.

I gave the girl a raised brow and her face reddened in embarrassment.

"You have not eaten am I correct?" l queried while raising my brow to push her. I did not want the girl's health to be compromised because of my error.

She shook her head at my question.

"You should eat then," I said but she shook her head harder.

"She is healing," I said reasonably. "And it will not help her if she wakes to see you hungry and more worried than is due. Do you want that?"

The shake was indignant now. Good, that meant she saw that I had a point.

I was not good with children but I found that they took better to a reasonable argument than force. More so with the liberal application of shaming.

"Go prepare a meal," I said with an encouraging smile. "You can eat it by her side and she will wake to see you full and smiling. That will be a nice sight, would you not say?"

She frowned thoughtfully at my suggestion, she tilted her head from side to side while staring at her sleeping elder. She turned to consider me for a long moment before giving me a reluctant nod.

She pulled herself up and went running to the small kitchen along the wall and cracking open a small container which I realized some sort of mini-fridge analog. One which was of dubious use given the flickering lights.

She set about to working on some sort of violet root vegetable, an even chopping sound while met with other sounds as she set about preparing what I was seeing

The sound was not bothersome, it gave me something to listen to while I was focusing on fine-tuning my control of the small devices in my hands, seeking to better understand their function and improve their efficiency now that the urgency of the ruins was past.

I found that my mind had an easier time tracking the progress of the repairs than the mechanisms of the device.

With time to think I weighed my circumstances. I neatly broke it down into the facts, probabilities based on evidence and theories to build an image of my current path.

Fact: I could fight effectively. That was objectively not that surprising given my state but it did weigh against concerns that my origins might hamper my combat aptitude.

Fact: This world both possessed an irregular null population and technologies suited to dealing with the denizens of the warp. The secrets to both however seemed relegated to salvage and dealing with the ruins.

Fact: The ruins were filled with daemons and the society around me had largely regressed into a pseudo-fantasy adventurer world built stemming from a scavenger-warrior caste. What I had learned logically translated to the caste being politically impotent in favor of divided states with an element of instability introduced by salvage which the populace referred to as 'treasures.'

This meant that at a base level I was in a reasonable position now that I understood my relative effectiveness against an irregularly large force. It also presented a problem if I was found as I did not fall into a position of leadership like my brothers, I had no taste for warfare (there was a gulf between banishing the very image of a folk-devil and killing a person) which would only complicate things further if push came to shove. I did however stand to offer more than enough to sway highly ranked imperial forces provided they were not unreasonable elements. With that factual image in mind I moved on to less certain theories.

Theory: The technology was somehow malfunctioning to provide the Daemon's with their ability to fight nulls in a much more effective fashion. This was supported by their limited but present ability to engage with both myself and Morygen as well as the overarching trend of technologically dominant species in this universe engaging with ill-calculated risks. It was therefore plausible for the Daemons to be anchored and trapped by the technologies within the ruins although whether they were one or two phenomena was impossible to say.

Theory: My effectiveness against the foe means that I am in a prime position to advance along the guild-system and gain a reasonable rank. If I can claim enough treasure then I can build sufficient renown to at the very least protect myself from external factors.

Theory: The Daemons taunted me with my birth. That could mean one of two probabilities, the less likely one now was that the Daemons knew my origin. My internal state held (distressingly) little weight on my plans even if the knowledge fell into the hands of a potential traitor, their word would be largely weightless unless I alienated myself to a Magnus-degree.

More probable… They had my birth pod. If they hunted this place long enough… they would know that the technology if intact would be beyond priceless. Whether that was true or not, the chance of that could be useful and it would be dangerous to allow it to fall into the hand of another Seeker. Their need for a written taunt was notable as well.

Which led to the more troubling theory.

A Null Primarch still struck me as an impossibility. It was not that I failed to accept the evidence, the proof was self-evident from the fact that I did not suffer the psychological assaults associated with Daemons in general. Their drain in color as well. They had hesitated. The warnings. Their crumbling forms. Morygen's account.

It was engaging in ignorance to not accept the reality before me based on assumptions, fact had to outweigh belief in these manners.

That ultimately resulted in a rough path forward. A path that would entail endangering myself and which was perhaps of unworthy scope for what my siblings preferred.

I would make earn as healthy a living as I could as a Seeker once I had relieved the daemons of their own treasure.

Perhaps I would even be fortunate enough to not be found?

It was a pleasant idea, even if it would have been ludicrous for what I had once been to consider a living involving fighting daemons regularly pleasant.

I simply did not have the ambitious spark of my relatives, I wanted a comfortable life and to best the daemons in the ruins as best as I was able. If it came down to it, I would try to gather enough evidence to use to preserve my lifestyle if I was found.

Ymer came to me with an oversized bowl of broth as I reached my rough conclusion. It was a heady thing with no meat or other delicacy to speak of but the earnestness in her eyes convinced my to drop the healing device in one of my hands to accept the bowl.

Iseult would be fine as she was, I had mostly been undoing some old damage to test the machine by that point.

I drank from the bowl with a fast chugging pace before lowering it and giving her my attempt at a wide grin of satisfaction.

"It is very good," I offered.

She nodded with a pleased smile of her own and had turned away before I coughed.

"Do not forget to eat as well," I reminded her. It felt inappropriate to reprimand a child I had only known for a few weeks but it slipped out on its own really.

The girl nodded her acceptance before carrying the bowl back to the small cooking unit

"You're good with her," Morygen's voice sounded drowsy as she regained a semblance of consciousness.

"You are awake," I said, stating the obvious.

"Somehow," she grumbled as she tried to move. I moved quickly to pin her with my spare arm as well.

Rather than be angry, she started laughing.

"Something is funny?" I asked in surprise.

"Ya," she chuckled before hissing from the pain. "Can't say I recall the last time I was pinned like this."

It was only then that I became aware of our position.

Namely that I was pinning her with one arm and had the Nua-stone held in place between her and her throat.

I might have been impotent but embarrassment still reigned at the realization.

"I can explain," I said immediately.

"Go on," Morygen chuckled.

"I did it for science," It was true but it also did not save me from more laughter.

Funnily enough, that convinced me.

I could live happily here.


	10. Prologue X

Humanity was an odd thing, we could be so different and so similar. The world that was my new home seemed to be no exception to that.

The small silver circle fit gingerly between my index finger and thumb, I had to be careful lest I crush it between them. I held it against the candlelight to catch the shine of the metal. One side showed a pattern of interweaving lines in the shape of a great tree while the other showed five stars surrounded by letters whose exact shape had been worn away from age.

"It's not much," Morygen said while scratching her cheek in embarrassment. "I am a bit short on coin until we sell our treasure but I wanted to thank you."

I smiled at her but shook my head, "You have been feeding me and sheltering me without pay for weeks, I am the one in your debt."

"No," she shook her head and offered me a lopsided smile. "You had a lead on a good site, it turned out more dangerous than we thought but you repaid me for the room. You did not have to help me."

 _And I was at least in part responsible for your being injured in the first place_ , I added internally. It was not castigation but a mistake was a mistake and it behooved me to try and correct it.

It was certainly more productive than dwelling on my fondness for the way she scratched her cheek and the roguish quality to the sway she smile. It was never symmetrical with the skin always tugging a bit higher to the right.

It was sort of cruel that I could still feel attraction but had a body too freakish to ever even try to do anything about it.

Seeing little point in furthering the matter, I put down the coin on the oaken table and acknowledged her point, "I will save it to repay you the next time you help me then."

Her smile was dry for a moment before her shoulders began to shake in mirth, "It is a bargain then."

Ymer cleared her throat from between us before pushing a bowl to her sister.

Morygen smiled down at her and shook her head.

"It is easy to forget who the big sister is," she snorted as she rubbed the smaller girl's hair.

I noticed that there was a bit of hesitation in the arm when she moved and a touch of a grimace in her expression.

"How are you feeling?" I asked while watching the slight clunkiness in her arm's movements.

"Nua-Stones are good," she explained while resting a hand on her shoulder. "People always told me that they were not great for detailed work, the shoulder will take some time to heal."

She sounded confident but the slight flicker in her green eyes hinted that she was not completely sure about what she was saying. I could understand that fear, her livelihood depended on her ability to fight in a distinctly dangerous environment.

I did not raise the subject however, instead I just enjoyed sat quietly with them while Morygen ate with gusto. More than her previous evasion of the taste, she seemed to genuinely starved.

It was a pleasant enough sight.

…

I was not a stupid man. I realized that there was something I was missing when the others returned with concerned expressions.

Iseult's concern once she awoke was even more evident.

There was something more to the null sisters and the foreign travelers.

But I did not push. I did not need to know what they planned as long as it did not endanger Morygen or Ymer beyond what was expected of being a Seeker.

They had been rather hurried to leave, they claimed that there would be a good bounty from the books once they sold it in a better market. The lord had apparently accepted a few of the volumes and we divided his payment but I did also saw flickers of disappointment on Morygen's face at the information.

I idly noted that they left Morygen with a strange coin when they departed the morning after.

"A Debter's Coin," she explained while showing me the gold coin etched with the emblem of their guild. "Treasures sometimes need to be sold a ways away. It's a guarantee that they will return."

"Practical," It was always pleasing to see practicality in human customs.

"It's tradition," she shook her head while turning away and beginning her walk back to her house. "I know that Ector's good for it."

"That is a relief," I smiled. "Those books are quite literally all that I have of worth."

I had traded my take from the lord's purchase to Ector in return for his loaning me a Nua-Stone until his return. It was perhaps an unwise expenditure but I wanted to study the device.

"Not all of it," she tissed. "You have my coin."

"And I do not intend to spend it," I said with a smile. "I will treasure it until I return it to you."

She gave me a strange look at the words, the right corner of her lips twirling up. "If that's what you want."

As we walked back I hesitated.

"What's bothering you?" She rested an elbow over my stomach and leaned forward while looking up at me.

"I wonder if it is unfair," I sighed. "You have already sheltered me for so long, it is not right for me to continue to take advantage of you."

Her smile faltered and her brows tented slightly.

"I already told you, didn't I?" She asked with a bit of unhappiness in her voice. "We've been helping each other."

"And I have done precious little," I explained. "I am not going to feed on you like a parasite because I have been of aid to you a time or two."

"You do not remember anything," there was surprising resistant in the tone. "I couldn't live with myself if I left a fellow Seeker to wonder about."

I wished that she had not leaned closer with the words, it drew attention to her rather pleasing proportions.

It was even worse that I was running short on excuses for my condition.

"I am scarcely a Seeker," I said. "I do not recall who I am and I do not even have a marking to refer to a guild, I doubt a test would be of great use given how much I have been altered."

She hesitated at my technically truthful explanation. Her eyes scanned me with a deepened frown and a furrowed brow, she was not a dullard to not see the point in my words.

"You could start again!" She seemed a bit too eager when the thought entered her head. "It would not be ideal but you could do an apprenticeship with me and enter my guild! You ripped through those Voidspawn as if they were nothing, you would be a great Seeker."

I wondered why she was pushing so hard on the matter. It was possible that she might have developed some affection for me-no, that thought was both overly optimistic and discounted how many of my physiological alterations would make that notion laughable. More realistically, she either thought that my aid would aid her in her endeavors or she wished to ensure her sister's condition should something happen to her.

Strange to say that I did not mind either possibility.

"I would not accept charity," I said plainly. "And this is too drastic an offer for you to make it on an impulse."

She nodded eagerly, "Then it's good that I've thought about it! I've talked it out with Ymer already, she likes you too."

"I do not think that I have ever spoken with Ymer," I said with an arched brow. "I had no idea that she was fond of me."

Morygen snorted, "She's not much of a talker but she's gotten attached."

It was fortunate that it was still morning, the first rays of dawn only now beginning to break the horizon. I did not wish to broadcast this increasingly embarrassing tableau.

It was an enticing offer, I had grown fond of the sisters rather quickly and it would provide me with a neat exit from having to explain my past.

"I will not accept charity," I finally answered. "I would seek some paid work in the village until we can venture into the ruins again."

"I do not mind the help!" She said with a triumphant and toothy smile. "You don't eat much. Especially given your size and you are Void-Bane like me! We would have parties begging to have us with them!"

That convinced me that she had been drawn to the economic benefits of having my assistance. That was reasonable for a single young woman with a dangerous and seasonal line of employment. It was possible that she also meant to involve me in whatever she had been conspiring with the others but I opted to give her the benefit of the doubt in that regard.

"Then I will accept your generous offer," I bowed my head. "I will be your apprentice then."

"That's fantastic!" She pushed back from and offered an outstretched hand. "Then let's shake on it!"

It was remarkable, what survived and what did not.

I caught her comparable tiny hand in my own, the size disproportion was actually cartoonish but I did not pay it a great deal of mind. The moment was to have some gravity to me so I focused on meeting her lively green eyes with my own mottled, grey ones.

"Very well," I confirmed.

"Good," She nodded as she scratched her cheek with closed eyes and a thin smile in the dawning light. The wind blew slightly as we spoke, pushing her red hair to her left and giving it a bronze color in the sunlight. "I was scarred that I'd have to drag you back by force."

"I am glad that you were not forced to undertake such dramatic measures," I said with mock seriousness. If the dampening of my emotions had one benefit, it made me well-suited to deadpan.

I guess that is where I began my new career formally.


	11. Seeker I

"That was a close thing," I commented as we walked down the yawning corridor of what I was certain was once a sort of avenue.

Morygen waved my reproach off with a chuckle, "Not that close."

"You were almost bisected," I responded. "'Close' is generous."

"Stop worrying about the little things," She lectured while poking at my side. It had become a custom for her to express her annoyance that way, although she had once joked about commissioning a ladder to allow her to poke at my supposedly thick head.

"Little things like fatal injuries?" I raised a brow.

"Exactly!" She said with her ringing laugh.

I wish that I could say that it was a new argument, I knew that I sounded like a mother hen but my protective instincts had been gradually increased since I had come to this world. I knew most of the villagers by name now and more to the point, I had become rather protective of Tinta'gile. I was vaguely worried about how much that sounded like one of the supposed sights for a certain mythological king's court.

The village's name had seemed like something of a portent given the themes that I had found on this planet but there was little to be done. I could hardly walk into the Alderman's house and demand that the village change its name for my convenience.

I contented myself with joining Morygen on expeditions like this one.

"It is remarkable that we have made it so far in without resistance," I wondered aloud. The season had ended weeks ago so we went alone now, plying the safer parts of the ruins which had been picked mostly clean over the- hmm, I was not sure if the fall had happened centuries or millennia ago, I had heard a dozen different tellings from dozens of Seekers. I did not put a great of stock in any of them, too much hearsay.

"Well not everyone picks up dead languages," She countered while giving me a mischievous grin. "No one's been in here for a _long_ time."

It was true enough that I had developed a knack for cracking the command codes for sealed bulwarks, it was alarming how many passcodes in this world had a structural overlap.

She was also not wrong in that there was profit to be made, my pack was already was already half-stuffed with the items she had identified as being of value.

"We should turn back," I advised. "This will surely be enough to give us some reasonable earnings."

She snorted, "Not all of us are tireless giants that can make a living off of helping around the village."

"You were the one that recommended it," I shot back.

"I did not think that you would turn into a one-man workforce," She poked at my side again with a bit more force.

I did not have a good response for that.

I sometimes mused at the sort of reaction my creator would have to seeing my gifts turned to being an effective field hand. That was not the only thing I did with my time between expeditions, I also moonlighted with construction, serving as a laborer with the various tradesmen around the village and even as a healer thanks to the Nua-Stone I had acquired.

"It is a living," I shrugged. I was getting better at forcing myself to be emotive, I realized that being deadpan constantly was not conductive to interacting with others.

She shook her head, "Eh, I'm teasing."

"I know," I said with my own smile. "And you are a magpie."

"A what?" She cocked her head in curiosity.

"A creature from legend," I explained. "A small bird that likes collecting shiny things."

She gave me a look of exaggerated indignance, "I'm not _small_. I'm a rather tall woman!"

"You do not deny the latter?" I asked.

She snickered while shaking her head, "Why would I? I love shiny things."

"Indeed," I agreed.

It was strange that I was fond of trading barbs with the woman.

I did not even mind that she was lying.

Math was never my strong suit but I now had a head engineered for genius, and I had never been so bad as to not notice a sizable deficit in income. Combined with her frequent trips to the Lord's manse to sell her treasures and the gap between my earnings and hers made it painfully clear.

The lord was taking an unduly large share of her earnings, both paying her a less than acceptable price and taking a cut of her general earnings.

I had not quite puzzled out why, her earnings were surely meager enough that they would make no great difference to a noble who I had gathered rules over a number of similarly sized settlements as well as a few larger and a perhaps twice the number smaller.

She said nothing of it and had deflected the question the few times I had tried to broach the subject with her. So, I did my best to offset her losses with my own earnings instead, it was not an act born out of altruism, rather it was a matter of my attachment to the girl.

We came to a stop before a gate a good twice my size and six times wider. The gate had been sealed by a heavier door than the others and I could make out the much-faded writing above, carved in letters of rusted steel with enough surviving to estimate what it had originally said.

"What's it say?" Morygen asked.

I hesitated for a moment.

I was not sure that I _wanted_ her to know what it said. The odds of us being so lucky were not great and it was only made worse by the fact that I knew that Morygen would not be willing to turn back if she learned what it said.

"A dead end," I shook my head. "It is just a recycling depot."

"A what?" She asked.

"A waste site," I explained. "I doubt anything of value would be in here."

She studied me with a disappointed expression before dropping her shoulders and bringing up a pale hand to scratch her cheek. "You're sure? You know that half of that was probably worthless to them."

She pointed at the pack strapped to my back in emphasis.

"While I am glad that you think so highly of what you are making me carry," I crossed my arms. "These facilities would be filled with toxic materials."

That swayed her, while she had never heard the name there was a good chance she had heard horror stories of toxic waste claiming the unwary.

"Well that's disappointing," she muttered before giving the door one last, longing look. "It would've nice to find something good in a safe place."

I put a hand on her shoulder while feeling mildly guilty, "There are other corridors, we might find something good on another occasion."

"You're right," she took a deep breath. "Let's get back home, Ymer will be worried."

 _It is for your own good_ , I said internally as she began walking back down the paths.

I cast one last look back to the sign one last time myself before dismissing it.

"You coming Galtine?" She shouted back.

"I am coming," I walked away from the door.

It was strange to hear the name the village had given me.

I had drank with the elders and had been christened with a name to complete my new identity.

Galtine Ailbe, it was not the worse name but I could have done without the implications that it carried for both my original life and my new one.

 _Am I a dog or a sword?_ I mused.

It was strange that I had been named for a sword that was defined for being a tag on to the legend of a more famous sword and a dog better known for being in the same litter as a more notable hound.

But I had pieced together that Galtine was a name that had a new meaning in this world, the name of some daemon-slayer from the last days of the Fallen Ones. There was always an expectation in being given the name of that sort of figure, the sort of expectation that could draw unwanted attention.

And the last… I was beginning to suspect that there was more to adopting a leant family name permanently than Morygen had initially implied. She had been casual about it but the way the villagers spoke made it clear to me that I was at least considered an adopted relative to the girls by the local culture's reckoning.

We emerged from the corridors that I had unlocked to the Forest-Gate, the vast courtyard that had long-served as the main launch point into the ruins of the city and whose immediate area was the only safe point to approach during the months of High Tide.

It was an odd realization that as we climbed down the bridges and ladders from the kilometer-high gate.

I had been on this world for eight months, a third of a year.

It was funny to think that Morygen was only about an eleven-year-old by their reckoning.

"You're distracted," She noted as she leaped between the ends of a shattered bridge.

"It is nothing," I followed over the gap. "It is odd to think that I have been here for so long."

She snorted at that and jabbed, "Oh stop being so sentimental. You should get used to it!"

"Will I not leave in sixteen moons?" Tradition dictated I receive my guild-markings once I had apprenticed for a year.

Morygen hesitated, "Well, yes."

I understood her hesitation, I was making her earnings increase dramatically.

We fell into a silence after that as we moved away from the courtyard and into the broad road used by formal expeditions launched by the largest gatherings of Seeker Parties, I found it hilarious that these were called 'Raids'.

We walked down the path back to Tinta'gile while taking in the sunset. The sun seemed redder than Sol, I knew little and less of properties of stars so it was beyond me how it might be different.

I did know that it was pleasant though.

We found Ymer waiting outside of our little house, on the somewhat oversized bench we had been gifted by the local carpenter. She was snoring quietly with her head resting over her folded arms on the railing.

Her soft breathes pushes the bangs that had fallen over her face back and forth like a pendulum.

"How many times do I have to tell her?" Morygen grumbled. "She'll get sick again from waiting out here."

She bent down to nudge the girl awake gently and I noticed that despite her words,there was a loving smile on her face. The look of an indulgent elder sister.

The girl had an embarrassed expression as she startled at the touch.

"Were you waiting for us?" Morygen asked.

Ymer nodded in resignation.

"I told you not to," Morygen said patiently.

Ymer nodded more slowly.

Morygen let it hang for a moment before shaking her head and rubbing the small girl's own messy mop of hair.

She turned back to look at me at gave me an apologetic look. The little one always meant well and I knew that Morygen was hesitant to discipline her when the little voiceless girl got worried.

Then there was the telltale growl of a small empty smile which prompted Morygen to laugh and Ymer to look down at her stomach in betrayal.

A broad smile stretch across my face.

"I will get started on dinner," I chuckled.

It was tempting to let this become all that there was to life.


	12. Seeker II

Strike, strike, parry.

The blade cut through the wind with a satisfying ease.

I repeated the motion over and over again.

When I was convinced that it could handle the strain I redoubled the speed of the strokes and thrusts, slowly incorporating my feet into the dance-like twirls and bursts of movement that accompanied the Viper and Crane that Trystane had taught me. I aimed to imitate the moves I had seen him employ against the servants of the Blood Gods some thirteen months past.

I imagined myself surrounded by the creatures, using the constant movement and momentum of the style to cut my way through them. I took the head of one even as my spare fist stretched out to harness the imaginary anchor to spin into a rib-crushing strike. A leap forward that would in truth have been followed by a turn inward and a broad sweep.

I came to a stop after I had rehearsed the movements and observed the blade in my hand.

It was not ornate by any means but it had borne my strength and speed without breaking or bending. A straight blade some four feet long, too long to be comfortably held in one hand for a mortal but short in my hand. It was proportioned like an enormous arming sword, suited well to cutting and thrusting. The only thing that marked it as unique beyond its scale was the disproportionate hilt, more suited to a longsword than a sword meant for use in a single-hand.

"Well, I think it is to your liking then," Wayfred the smith whistled. The portly man was the very image of a smith, with a thick black beard and a heavily muscled frame save for his immaculate cleanliness and neat locks.

It was a repercussion of being so close to seasonal place for Seekers that the local smith was an accomplished maker of both arms and armor in addition to the little things that fulfilled the needs of the village.

"It is perfect," I offered him a grateful nod. That was untrue, I could see and sense a number of imperfections in the creation but I did not have my more productive sibling's gifts for artifice and it was a better thing than I could have expected.

Morygen snorted from the post she leaned on, "For what you asked? I'd think it was!"

She chuckled and the smith rolled his eyes, "Rude as ever, little Morygen. Shall I tell him of _your_ first sword?"

"Of course, your work is perfect! Worth a king's ransom! You should be working for the king!" Morygen immediately corrected while some colour rushed to her cheeks and a finger scratching her cheek made it clear that I would have to hear that story. "And so kind! So forgiving!"

There was something there though.

Morygen had said that she had _come_ to the village, for all her concern for her sister it seemed like they had been part of the community for a long time.

The smith nodded his satisfaction before turning back to me, oblivious to the knowledge he had let slip. "The child aside, the sword will hold to your strength good enough I think."

"I agree," I smiled as I gave it another swing.

I had been expensive, Morygen joked but I understood that the bulk of the price had been for the precious materials needed when most metals would collapse, buckle and break at my grip. Blades would snap and bend, mauls would shatter when they made contact. A working weapon that was suited to what I had learned was worth the price.

"You're like a child with a new toy," Morygen shook her head as we walked back home.

I smiled down at her, "Good, you continue to understand me."

She poked at my side with some mirth in her expression. I was finding myself more and more drawn to that mirth, maybe that was why I did not question her lying to me.

No, I had begun to question it.

I had begun to build a narrative in my mind but there were too many holes in the story to assemble a complete idea.

"You almost have a full set to scale," Morygen commented.

I could not argue that point, glancing down at the belted tunic, trousers and boots that I currently wore. Ingratiating myself to the various craftsmen had been useful, I strongly suspected that my low-balling what I asked for work had also helped.

I had slowly commissioned a suit of boiled leather to cover my body with a titanic suit of mail. Furniture to suit my scale and withstand my weight (which was to say that legs had been largely discarded in favor of stumps and getting used to being cross-legged) and a steadily growing wardrobe.

"Almost there," I smiled in genuine mirth, a slight tugging at my cheek.

"Why do you do that?" The question was earnest from her as she walked in front of me with her head leaning back to star up at me. "Your smile looks better like that."

I was surprised by the question, enough that I forgot to emote.

"I am not certain that I get your meaning," I frowned.

She smiled and slowed her step a bit more so that her head was resting on my stomach.

"I was there when you woke up, you know," She rolled her eyes. "It is hard for you to smile properly so you force it."

I sighed and reached down to scoop her up and sit her in my arms.

"And now I feel like a child," She grumbled.

"If you walk in that fashion, you are bound to trip," I pointed out. "And certainly not a child, perhaps a girl of five or six."

She did not take being compared to a ten-year-old well and reacted by poking at my cheek.

"You're avoiding the question," She frowned childishly before giving me a sobering look. "If you do not want to talk about it, then I will leave it be."

I sighed and changed my course towards home.

"A question for a question?" I asked.

She looked down a moment and tilted her head from side to side, in a manner that reminded me of her junior.

It was rare to see Morygen hesitate and given what happened last time I made her hesitate… well, I was not eager to inconvenience her.

But before I could speak she lifted her head and gave me a considered nod.

She always did this when we played the game, although she had never started it with such an intrusive question before.

"That's a fair trade," She nodded. "But let's get back home first?"

"Of course," I nodded.

I meant it, that world, that town, that undersized house, they were all home for me now.

We returned home to find Ymer cleaning the floors that some of the villagers had helped me replace. The little girl passed the wet towel over the new wood of the floors with a methodical and fervent pace that one would expect of a master artisan polishing a prized possession.

The house had grown cramped in the time since I had accepted it as my home.

Morygen's cot had at my insistence been replaced by a functional bed and the small bed Ymer slept in had been refurbished to the best of my ability. I still slept on a dozen layers of blankets and a stiff pillow that I had stuffed with the best straw that I could find.

A new chest, table and chairs that suited our various scales. This meant that I was given an opportunity to practice the more intricate moves of my style just to get around the tight spots.

"We might need a larger place soon," Morygen commented as I ducked under the door frame and lowered her. "One of these days you will hit the door and knock down half of the place."

"True," I had not mentioned leaving in months. Leaving was fast becoming a difficult concept to allow continence. Separating from the two felt as wrong as I knew staying was.

Ymer stood up and gave us a from while point at our dusty boots.

"I apologize," I offered a smile and a bow while the girl gave an authoritative nod. I sat in my chair and began dusting my boots while Morygen did the same.

I missed the custom of taking off one's shoes when they entered a dwelling, I sometimes played with the idea of figuring out how to introducing full and proper hygiene to the others.

Bathing and (attempts) at dental hygiene were known in the village but I knew that there were countless improvements that I could implement if I just had the means.

While I mused on the subject, Morygen gave Ymer some Copper Eyes and sent her off to gather some essentials for their evening meal.

"Our agreement?" I asked as the door closed behind us.

"Yes," Her ever-present smile shined as she took her seat and interlaced her fingers. "Who should go first?"

"Well you already asked," I confirmed. "I do not like to be impersonal so I smile."

In emphasis I forced a wide smile, she crossed her arms and gave me an evaluating frown before rising from the table. She supported herself with one hand as she reached up and nudged the corners of my mouth back into place.

"Much better," She snorted. "Fair. Your turn."

I knew better than to start with my bigger questions.

I never pushed her too hard in these games, I liked learning little morsels of information about her even as I offered her some tidbits in return. It was a memory game but I treated it as a means to tease out little bits of her.

"Why do you ask after my smile?" I asked back.

"Because your real one looks better," She laughed. "And that is not a good question, ask me a better one."

"Hmm," I tapped the table in false consideration. "Give me its name then."

I did not have to clarify, I had been asking about the old archaeotech sword wrapped and bundled in the chest for a while.

I had asked how old it was when we played my first month here.

She had said that she did not know but that she had been told that it was from the days before the Fall.

The third month, I asked how she had gotten it.

It had come to her from her father, who had inherited from his mother and her father before that.

The seventh month I had asked her how long she had carried it.

That had been a touch too hard a push but she had answered four years by her world's reckoning after taking a long drink of ale.

I waited until the tenth month to ask her why she had never bothered to fix the gaps from the pried gems in its hilt.

 _Because I intend to replace them_ , she had said as she nestled against him that snowy day.

Today, today the answer was, "Gualguanus."

"A good name," I offered. "Your turn."

She considered that, "Will you promise to only show me your real smile?"

That was an odd question but her questions were never as interrogative as mine.

"Wrong format," I said with a slight snort. "But I why would I attempt a falsehood if you can see through it?"

Her smile showed her left canine and her eyes twinkled, "You know, this game's more fun with drink."

"And you know that I cannot become intoxicated," I shot back with my own amusement before leaning into a more delicate question. "You were born here?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I was raised in the capital."

I had expected more resistance to that particular question but she said it quickly, fast enough to surprise me.

She snickered at my hesitation. She was annoyingly good at that, throwing wrenches into my accelerated thought-processes.

"Were you hoping for more?" She stuck out her tongue. "Save it for your next question."

I shook my head and sighed, "Your turn."

She gave me another mischievous look to ask her next question when the door slammed open and a man in heraldry of some sort came in.

"You are called," he spit on the floor that Ymer had just cleaned.

Outside I saw men with the same style of dress and armed.

One of which was pulling the younger girl by her arm, fear alive in her eyes.

I was moving before Morygen could tell me to stop.


	13. Seeker III

"Again," I said awkwardly while the Nua-stone hummed in my hand. "I am truly sorry about this."

Asca, as the guard had been called gave me a dry look. I had to compliment him for not reacting beyond a tense expression to the nanites pulling his broken bones back into place.

We rode in a wagon surrounded by fifteen men ahorse. Well, I was walking beside it but the meaning stayed the same.

Morygen scratched at her cheek as she rode next to us, "Sorry about that Asca."

He gave her a betrayed look while Ymer looked embarrassed at the whole affair.

It had been an act. An agreed arrangement, if the situation warranted it for the armsmen men to retrieve the sisters to the lord's manor. The aggression had been needed to assuage suspicion, to make it seem like censure rather than protection.

An act I had complicated by breaking the arms of two of the men and Morygen putting on a poor act of begging me to go quietly for our safety.

I blamed my over-reaction on the Emperor of course. It was not that I felt that it was not my fault so much as it was a convenient excuse enjoyed by my siblings.

"You should have warned me that this might happen," I commented while the guard's blue eyes looked at Morygen with even more indignance.

"I didn't think I'd have to," Morygen admitted before adding under her breath. "I am glad that you wanted to help."

The men must either have been indoctrinated or fanatically loyal to their lord to let my act go without resentment. They merely took the course of events in stride while their compatriots were healed.

"Again," I repeated for the eighth time. "My apologies."

The guard gave me another look before nodding and opening his tense jaw to speak. Despite his ruddy complexion, he sounded young.

"You are fixing it," He bit out the words. "Get me a drink and I will consider it even."

"Don't so that," His healed friend said from next to Ymer while handing the girl a small bundle of sweetmeats. "It took long enough to sober him up for this."

"It numbs the pain!" The leader protested while the men around him laughed.

Morygen somehow read my confusion and chuckled, "Sorry about that, Lord Antur tends to secure treasures for his men. Asca is a plenty quick healer and can't feel much pain besides."

"But a broken arm qualities," The guard leader commented as he took off his half-helm and passed his working hand through his brown locks.

"You owe me a great deal of answers," I added dryly to Morygen, I was willing to let it slide before but now my ignorance was actively maiming supposed allies.

I was being protective, I understood that on a rational level but that weighed in little compared to the tension coiling up in my stomach. This entire charade would only have been done under dire need, either my family was under threat or they would be put under threat by whatever was happening.

Morygen frowned at both my words and my tension, "When we get to the manse, I promise you that. Just trust me until then, please?"

I am not sure that I should, I commented internally. I do, but I have no idea why.

I gave her a terse nod, letting my frown show but not saying anything else on the matter.

The party settled into the constant talk of the guards which Morygen easily integrated herself into the chatter.

The sun had set some time ago as we ventured farther away from the village than I had since I had arrived to that world.

The fields of wheat had thinned out as we moved over bridges, crossing the rivers that marked the end of the farmlands and the beginnings of long empty fields and scattered woods.

It was a beautiful sight, I supposed that I could take solace in that at least.

I like the fresh breeze that came in on windy days like that one, windy weather was common enough in Tinta'gile and I had grown to love the feeling of the air.

We traveled for hours like that, well into the night without ceasing.

Ymer fell asleep in the wagon, her head resting without worry on the man that I had healed who looked down at her and shook his head.

He gingerly undid his cloak and draped it over the girl, who eager clung to it without waking.

"Bors, you're spoiling her," Morygen shook her head as if she was any better a disciplinarian.

The broad-shouldered man shrugged softly, "She'll catch a chill, Lord Antur would have my hide."

Morygen snorted but did not question it any further.

I felt and more like I was missing out on some sort of joke as words passed, so I stayed quiet and focused my thoughts on building a hypothesis for whatever was happening.

The guards were a known quantity, ones that Morygen and Ymer had a familiar relationship with them (I felt some annoyance at that). More importantly they were allies that the lord deployed to protect the sisters from some sort of perceived threat, the sort of threat that had required a false pretense to hide the protection.

I matched that with my previous observations about Morygen's earnings and found that I could not match them to my satisfaction. Well that is not accurate, it was not that I could not produce a hypothesis so much as that there were too many possible explanations and none were reliable to me.

We made our way farther and farther towards the destination until a the town and manse became visible in the horizon.

We came over a rolling hill and so I was given an excellent view of the town against the setting sun.

The town sat amidst a vast series of mostly unpaved roads interweaved over the crop fields like a particularly fat spider sitting in the heart of its web.

The town itself was two layers of tall walls encircled with stone gates and towers, cutting the brown mass of thatch, wood and tile roofs that made up its body. My mind idly noted that the village house approximately eight to ten thousand individuals with the proportion of houses favoring an indication of wealth. This was no town, it was nearer to a city and a well-off one at that.

The manse sat atop a tall hill of reworked steel, a bulbous tower rounded by gates half-buried by dirt and stone.

The structure atop the hill was closer to a citadel than a manse. The central compound against the hill was hidden by a wall taller than the walls that circled the town and I could only see the tall tower rising from its center. Six archways extended from the top of the tower and reached down to reach six towers emerging from small redoubts around the hill.

"Does Lord Antur claim the fealty of other nobility?" I queried the now healed guard captain, speaking for the first time in hours. It did not seem like the home of a lesser Lord, by no means at all.

Asca hesitated for a moment and I noticed the woman dipped her head in approval.

Deference, I finally confirmed. It was the most overt sign and the sixth such sign of obedience. I had also noticed that the guards were not arrayed in a perfect circle but they hid it well. Rather there were two semicircles centered around each of the sisters.

In the semi-second I had thought it over, the guard captain had already shifted to begin answering. A quick man then.

"Half a dozen lesser lords," He began. "Perhaps a hundred or two lesser nobles. Most have their own vassals as well."

"A powerful lord then?" I mused.

I noticed Morygen eyeing me with… embarrassment? No that was not quite right, her eyes were too downcast for that. That was shame.

"Lord Antur is second only to the king!" Asca said with some evident pride. "His house is old and powerful."

I was beginning to suspect that 'Duke' would be a much more accurate definition for this lord than a title so simple as 'lord'.

I resumed my silence as we neared the city gates and two of the men rode farther ahead and from a few dozen meters I saw a pin exchange hands. A dog's head before a staff with a yellow sun behind them.

The same sigil that was belted on the bronze-hued tunics that the guards wore over mail.

The gate opened behind them as our group resumed its forward pace.

We climbed up the stone paths through the city. It was the anachronisms of my home writ-large. The main streets were lighted by lanterns humming alive with power as they drifted through the sky. I saw sewer grates and electricity gave light to a number of windows.

We rode up the hill with a redoubled their, there was little of the previous guard as they adjusted to their home territory. It seemed foolish to me but I was not a trusting person (except for Morygen it seemed).

As we passed through the yawning gate into the castle proper and the party began to dismount, Morygen came over to me with her hand already scratching her cheek. Her cheeks and ears were redder now.

"I've got to ask you for a favor we go in," She said awkwardly.

I raised a brow and she flushed visibly. The way her freckles contrasted with her blushing cheeks were somewhat distracting.

She began again, "I know that I'm asking a lot."

"Very well," I said with a wry smile. "I will add it to my growing list of questions."

"And I will answer then!" She assured me quickly she smiling hesitantly at me.

She might have been about to speak further but more guards flood into the courtyard.

My hand shot to blade at my hip just to be certain.

The guards formed two neat rows to allow for their lords to cross between them.

He was perhaps fifty years old by my reckoning, twenty five by this world's. He was tall for a human but spindly and even frail in build. His greying red hair flowed long and straight from where it clung to his head in thinking clumps. His chin was weak and his nose was crooked but his green eyes had a quiet wisdom about them. A three pronged band sat comfortably around his thin neck and he was dressed in flowing vestments that brought to mind the image of a priest.

Ymer ran to the man and wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug while he patted her head.

"My, how you have grown," He said with a reedy voice and kindly smile while she beamed up at him.

He turned to to where Morygen and I stood.

He gave her a look that was balanced between chastisement and amusement before turning his head up to meet my gaze.

As he studied me, I noticed that I recognized the shade of green in those eyes.

"I am saddened that your father would approve, niece," He shook his head sadly before looking back to me. "Be sure she does not have you ripping too many men apart, lad."

Oh.

Well that actually explained a great deal.

"It may be a touch too late for that."


	14. Seeker IV

I had been surprised that there was a room large enough to fit me, it was a grand thing which I supposed explained the scale. A massive if somewhat short bed, a jug of wine on a strong table, a chess, wardrobe and even a good view of the city below.

I paid it little mind after the first few moments and waited until I heard the expected sound some two hours later.

"So," I said as I leaned against the wall as the door was opened. I could hear Morygen's telltale heartbeat behind the door as easily as I could hear most of the heartbeats nearby without any great deal of effort.

I had waited patiently while she met with her 'uncle' in that room, I did not think that I was being forced to stay but I had the distinct impression that leaving would cause more trouble than I was interested in causing.

She gave me a lopsided smile as she close the door behind her and leaned against it.

"I'm sorry about this," she said awkwardly.

"You do not owe me an explanation," I shrugged. "I suppose that I have no right to know about your personal life."

It was an unkind move and I did feel a dull pang of guilt at the stricken look on her face. Strictly speaking I knew that her lending me her name was a gesture of friendship but it was true that I had no right to demand the answers.

"That's not right," She said with some hurt in her voice. "I'd planned to tell you."

I doubted that. I was very attached to her but I knew that she would not have mentioned this. Even now her body was alive with signs of discomfort, small things signs beneath a veneer of calm.

"Then tell me," I said simply while gesturing at the bed.

She chuckled, "Not how I expected to do this."

I allowed her attempt at humor with a sigh.

"Sit," I clarified.

She did just that with a casual stride that belied the tension beneath her frame.

I sat down before the bed to look at her eye to eye.

We merely stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Her hesitation was obvious by now as she began scratching her cheek.

When she failed to take the initiative I asked my first question.

"You never mentioned that the Lord was kin," I commented.

"In fairness, you never asked," she gave an awkward shrug.

"I should have," I admitted. It was an answer that came easily and unplanned. "And I do now."

"Well I guess I might as well say it?" She asked with a helpless shrug. "Yes, my uncle is Antur Ailbe and my father was Leode Ailbe, first and second born of Lord Degran Ailbe who in turn held the title of the Southern Duchy of Calen as the hundredth and forty second to hold that title."

My brain reflectively calculated that the house was therefore some two eight hundred and forty years old at most assuming a decade per generation (twenty years by the terran year).

"Your father was a Seeker," Which meant that he had been the one to renounce nobility.

Morygen had told me that the day we met, anyone could become a Seeker but that was a renunciation which followed their bloodline.

She nodded with eyes glinting with pride, "Yes. My father renounced his place and took the family sword with him when he left this place."

"That does not sound like something that would be tolerated," I noted.

"To say the least," she chuckled. "Uncle forgave it when he took the lordship. Lord Degran? Lord Degran would have taken my father's head until the day that he was unhorsed at a tournament. A splinter through his visor, would you believe it? Dying from something so pointless as a splinter?"

"People die in all sorts of ways," I pointed out. "Seekers certainly more so than most."

"True, pointless place to die though," She snorted.

"Death does not _have_ a point." It surprised me again how easily the thought slip. "You can give it purpose or context if you want but it is pointless."

"Well that is comforting," She raised a brow. "Anymore depressing thoughts you want to share?"

I cracked another small but genuine grin, "No, continue if you will."

She nodded, "At any rate, my father didn't take the sword without reason. My family had been Seekers once, many houses are. At least as many as were bound warriors or merchants."

An expected pattern, nobility always had some origin from an advantageous position and I could see how Seekers could grow powerful without challenge.

"And he wished to make a life out of resuming the ancient family tradition?" I queried. That seemed like a pointlessly romantic approach to life but a young runaway was not usually the brightest of creatures.

She seemed slighted by the way her eyes narrowed minutely and I realized that I might have heart her again. My heartbeats picked up a touch at that, I did not like to hurt her feelings. "I am sorry, I did not mean to-"

"No," she shook her head. "No, it's my fault. I'm not saying it right. Our origins are mostly myths, myths a number of scholars will swear by but myths. No. Father left because he wanted to change things."

I raised a brow.

"The guilds used to _mean_ something," Morygen sighed. "The idea that we didn't have to be content to stay in the shadow of ruins. That the sins of the Fallen _can_ be fixed. That we don't _have_ to live in the shadow of the ruins our enemies still claim since before we could write again."

Her words had the passion that only an adherent to a cause could speak with and my ears thrummed with her beating heart and I saw the glimmer in her eyes.

It was hard not to find her pretty.

She caught herself though and blushed brighter at realizing that she had spoken so much. She coughed awkwardly while I smiled at her.

She scratched her cheek while looking away.

"Sorry about that," she muttered.

"It is rather cute," the words came out in a teasing tone before I could catch them and my eyes widened slightly in panic as I realized that I had spoken too much.

She smile back to me brightly, her awkwardness vanishing quickly.

"I am a touch more than 'rather'," she said confidently. "Now, where was I?"

"The guilds?" I prompted.

She nodded and resumed her narrative, "Father was a Child of the Dawn, what they call Seekers that think that the Guilds have become too weak. We sit around and content ourselves raiding our birthright, competing with each other rather than working together against the Voidspawn. We sell what will not help us to the highest bidder. The Guilds war with each other when it suits the masters and we let kingdoms burn while taking no responsibility!"

That seemed a rather simplistic solution to me, 'we could do it better' was as old a political fallacy as time. Rebels always claimed to have the greater good in mind but were merely a powerful class tricking and overpowering the strong and the weak until they achieved a new command. I did not comment on that however.

Morygen had the sound of a true-believer, the sort that was purged when consolidation came.

Yet… I could not help but like that fire.

She frowned at me.

"I know that it sounds silly," she admitted. "I'm not a fool, I know that it is not that easy. Father worked hard, he built renown abroad and when uncle took power he and mother returned, father was smarter than me. He knew that there was more to rule, he knew when to speak to people and when to force his point."

I was getting a sense that I knew where this was going.

"He rallied the Children among the Silver," she said as she passed a hand over the silver embroidery on her guild-glove. "His writings actually drew interest all over the interest if you'd believe it."

"And the Old Guard took exception?" I asked.

She gave me a bitter smile, "You'd think that, wouldn't you?"

I raised a brow again.

"I do not know who did it," She said with an empty smile. "I was out with mother, it was my second expedition."

Her face paled as she continued her story and her eyes grew distant.

"Father had been a mess of cuts, slumped on his favorite chair," She went on. "Ymer had liked to watch him talk in his study. She had this little spot, beneath his desk. It was an old, weathered thing, big enough for a child of two to hide under."

I found that my hands were crushing against each other with my agitation.

"We were lucky," Morygen sighed. "She was so young, it was remarkable that she did not scream or cry until we found her. Of course, the thing is that she never made a sound again."

I wanted to offer some sort of comfort but this body was not made for subtle human gestures of reassurance.

"Uncle took us in," she nodded. "Mother never recovered, hells she did not make it through the following winter. She just stopped eating one day and left us alone."

"You do not have to continue if you do not want to," I offered.

"I promised you answers," she reminded me. "I had no interest in Uncle's offers of adoption and Ymer would not go where I didn't."

"You still want to follow your father, do you not?" I questioned.

"Yes," her crooked smile was unhappy. "I can't remember their faces but I remember what they lived and died for. So I live in the same town where I was born, I try to make what ties I can under my Uncle's protection. It's sad isn't it?"

She had a sense of weariness that did not suit her age.

"Ector and Trystane?" I asked in recognition.

"Ector was a friend to my father during his time in the Southern States," she admitted. "He travels north to maintain the ties that survived my father's murder. He helps me when he has the opportunity."

"You want the renown and allies to move openly?" I asked.

"Yes," She said. "If nothing else, merit is still worth something. I am a nuisance because of my father but not enough of a threat to pursue as long as Uncle protects me."

She walked over to the previously untouched jug by the window and filled two of the mugs with wine.

"I know it's nothing for you," She handed me a cup filled with deep red liquor. "But share a drink with me?"

"Of course," I nodded while sipping at the pitiably small cup. "And the treasure you hand to him?"

"I should not be surprised," she shook her head. "Uncle won't stop me and he won't take Gualguanus but he makes me give him earnings."

"For what purpose?" I asked.

She nodded, "As long as I am not successful? I am not a threat worth pursuing. He is trying to protect me."

That seemed cruel. But only on a surface level, the guards defended the sisters, Morygen's dress and the affection the older man had shown.

"I take it that his offer of adoption stands?" I asked.

"Yes," she sighed. "Ymer will take that path I hope."

With that we fell into silence.

She had said everything, answering my questions completely and to the best of my body's ability to detect, honest.

"Did you think that I might be of advantage to you then?" I asked without anger or spite, merely curiosity.

"When we found you?" She asked. "Yes."

"And now?" I asked, noting the wording of her answer.

Her cheeks reddened again and a finger scratched her cheek, "I want you to keep my name."

The answer was bit sufficient but I had forced enough emotion from her and the girl looked drained,

"I appreciate the honesty," I smiled.

"Honesty?" She snorted, "Yes, that is one word for it."

We returned to silence for a while again before she spoke.

"My Uncle approves of us," she offered.

"That is good," I nodded. "It will make the adoption easier."

I had accepted the sisters as family, acquiring approval from the family head would be needed after all.

She smiled at me brightly, "I'm glad that you think so, I am surprised he went so far as to give us the same room though."

Every process in my mind came to a grinding stop at that moment.

"Oh," I said realization.

 _Oh, damn it._


	15. Seeker V

There were times that I was grateful for the alterations wrought by my new self. The raw speed and clarity with which I could speak was one of then. It was useful be able to quickly clamp down on my surprise and push it aside.

It made sense in retrospect.

I was useful and objectively as great a treasure as any that could be found, more So than Morygen probably imagined.

From a political point of view, adopting me was a solid method tactic.

Marriage, marriage was the most redoubtable way to bind me to her cause.

It was viable. The events of the past months shifted as I raced to recompile and reanalyze them.

Yes, she had been giving the signs of attraction. Her wording, her flush, scent and movements tacked away at a mental checklist.

That created two distinct possibilities.

One: She was attracted to me and acted on a combination of motive and attraction.

Two: She sought to use the obligation but was uncomfortable with her current sway. It was the less kind but she was clever and ambitious.

I leaned towards the former possibility. It was perhaps naive but it fitted her better.

I did not object to the plan actually.

Allowing the alliance would grant me access to her plans which would mean that I could better protect them, obligation worked both ways after all.

And… I was more than the fond of the smiling woman. I knew that marriage was farcical for what I was but that had somehow not stopped me from the observation.

There was one flaw though, it was better to clarify before going too far.

"Marriage?," I asked. Then I immediately recalled that it had only been seconds since she had spoken.

Now it was her turn to freeze, reddening to a scarlet.

"I-um," She scrambled for composure while coughing frantically. "I-I had thought that you didn't notice? I was looking for a way to bring it up."

Once again, that was a fair critique in retrospect.

"I had not noticed it before," I admitted. "I had assumed that the changes had made me undesirable."

Not that any of that was necessary for a marriage alliance.

That was a moot point at any rate judging from her choked laugh.

"Really?" She said between snickers. "Sure you're a bit-well no, you are very big. But not monstrous."

"I was not aware," I said dryly. "My point stands, you are proposing a marriage alliance?"

"Such a romantic way to put it," she flashed a tooth in her sly grin. She was taking the initiative in the conversation again. "But yes, that is my proposal."

I gave her a look of expectation and she shrugged.

"I do not exactly bring a great deal to it," She admitted. "Any children we have would be Void-Banes, not the rarest thing but not a bad deal."

And there was the sticking point.

"I am sterile," I confessed.

She blinked and her smile was wiped from her face, "Oh, oh. Oh."

She finished the last with a lowering of her shoulders.

"I would accept the offer," I smiled. "But children would never be realistic."

I had expected a look of defeat but she seemed relieved as she nodded.

"I do not mind that," She said.

"Well," I said. "That is it then."

"You could sound a little bit happier," she attempted humor.

"Oh I am so very happy," I put effort into sounding sarcastic. "Be sure that I could not possibly be happier."

"Better," she smiled.

"Is that why we are here?" I asked. "Did your uncle wish to force matters?"

"No," Morygen said. "It is because a guild delegation is traveling through the village. Apparently word of your opening the old doors has encouraged them to try for a Raid."

I almost snickered at the choice of word, but I managed to hold it back.

"The city Oath-Master is leading the expedition herself," Regardless of her words there was a dryness to them. "And with over a dozen parties according to my uncle."

I frowned slightly as I gave it more thought, "You are concerned that they might find something that we did not?"

"Obviously," she sighed. "It might be a dead language but a few Seekers know enough of the Fallen Tongue to try what you do."

My blood froze at that, I recalled the sealed vault door.

It was one chamber among hundreds I had primed for opening or had opened. The risk if I allowed that…

"And he thought you might wish to participate?" I asked.

"No," She shook her head. "The Oath-Master was a friend of father's and one of the first to turn on his legacy. Uncle thinks that she would move to kill me if I went."

"A reasonable concern," I summarized.

She shook her head as she pulled herself up from the bed and rolled her shoulders as she walked over to me.

"Can't do anything about it," she shrugged before very deliberately sitting down again. She sat on my crossed legs and looked up at me with mischief back in her eyes, she was daring me to make a comment on that.

"Do you wish a husband or a chair?" I asked dryly.

"You do make a good chair," she waved me off.

"I am glad to be of service then," I rolled my eyes.

It seemed like a strange idea, something that happened too casually and too easily to believe. It was a strange situation that I had been placed in, I had been rendered into the least likely being to ever marry and in little more than a terran year I found myself engaged. If I was found… well, I doubted my brothers and creator would think terribly well of my situation. The legion I was sire to would be even worse in all probability, they tended to scorn ties to humanity after all. I had no intent to change my stance of course, I had agreed and now I would wed her if she asked.

We stayed there for a while in consideration for our agreement, drinking through the chalice of wine until it was empty. It had no effect on me but Morygen had a pleased glean in her eyes until she fell asleep against me.

The door still bothered me.

…

"I am sorry about the arm," I repeated to Asca as I passed him into Lord Ailbe's solar.

But the guard shrugged and gave a short laugh, "I understand why you did it. I could have done without the broken arm but I respect you for defending the ladies."

 _Ladies_ , I suspected that Lord Antur was merely waiting for his eldest niece to grow tired and return to what he might see as her proper place.

The Lord waited in a room of stone and steel walls, books lined every wall in their shelves and a mechanical lamp sat over a desk of carved stone arrayed with mechanisms and trinkets from a dozen different styles and origins.

Rugs woven in beautiful patterns of foreign make covered the floors and sculptures rose between the shelves.

The old lord waited behind a desk with his fingers clasped, before him a mechanical stylus lay next to a blank sheet of parchment. My eyes saw the indent on writing which suggested that there was writing on the other side of the sheet.

"I would offer a seat," He spread his hands with a tired smile, an echo of Morygen's. "But I am afraid that I do not have one that would not buckle.

The three seat before the desk were fine things, worked from living redwood into patterns of knots and suns reaching into a crowning star.

They were beautiful but they would have been crushed had I tried to take a seat.

"I will stand then," The room was fortunately more than tall enough for me to stand without hunching down.

He took a moment to speak, eyeing me again as if it to divine my mood, "I understand that you wish to wed my niece?"

 _Is that how we are phrasing this?_ I thought sardonically. I did not mind it, I was perhaps even pleased. But that did not change that I had not been an active party in the arrangement.

I had agreed though.

"That is the case," I nodded stiffly.

"Well that is proper," the older man scratched at his palm with a thumb. "Better than sharing her roof any longer with no pretense of loyalty."

That was an unkind way to put it but I did not argue, I idly noted that perhaps some of my brothers had never wed because their fickle pride had left a wake of murdered nobles who did not phrase their proposals correctly.

"I had no designs on her," I said with a touch of defensiveness.

His laugh had a bit of a wheeze to it, "I have no doubt of that. She had designs on you though."

"She has informed me of this," I said with a touch more defensiveness. "She has largely treated me with honesty despite my condition."

He unclasped his hands and leaned back.

"I fear that I have slighted you," he scratched his chin. "When I said that her father would have approved. He also preferred the idea of a wife that would not debate his direction, I fear that Morygen has merely sought to trade the role."

"I want to protect her, not much else," I said with conviction. "I do not intend to stand against her will but her life is paramount."

It sounded simplistic, a clumsy way to articulate my beliefs on the subject but true in the essentials.

"I do not doubt that," he tapped his fingers on the arms of his oaky chair. "I will not stand against it, I do not strictly have the means to force her hand away from you."

"Then I confess that I do not know the purpose of this meeting," I was somewhat terse and immediately regretted being rude.

I was in a reality where abject rudeness was frequently equated to mysterious wisdom or superiority, I had no desire to contribute to it.

"I merely wished to be sure that my agents had the right of you," the old lord chuckled. "I have sons aplenty, a few daughters now in foreign lands but you will forgive a greedy old man from wanting to protect his brother's children."

It should not be surprising that he had agents, it would have been more surprising if the old lord could have forced any limitations on Morygen without others to overlook her and check her ambition.

"And your measure?" I asked curiously.

"Knowing the minds of men has long been my strength," he waved. "But I have only spoken to you a little lad, it will take many long words to arrive at a conclusion. I can accept your marriage for now, bless it as is my right and all."

He turned the sheet on his desk and pushed it forward, Morygen had signed it in ink, Lord Antur had signed it with his own ink.

Seekers were odd creatures in that fashion, marriages required precious little in the means of ritual, words traded before witnesses and blessed by the eldest relatives of each.

I was adopted into house Ailbe as was the precedent for one with a lost memory so all that was needed was the approval of the older man, a decree with his signing to be sent to the nearest capital where our guild held sway and it would be done.

"I thank you then," I nodded as I reached down and signed the names that Morygen had given me next to theirs.

It was so anticlimactic, Morygen had told me of the more elaborate rituals that we would hold when we returned home but they were just additions.

I would have added that she should be present but I preferred to merely raise my voice.

"You are waiting outside?" I asked.

The door opened as Morygen slipped in, leathers traded for a rather complimentary shift of bronze silk marked by the complex knotwork that I had seen all over the castle.

"Your hearing is sharp," she scratched her cheek. "I wanted to be present."

"This feels a touch rushed," I sighed.

"Well it has to be," she snorted.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I would not let her join the Raid without you bound to protect her from treachery," Lord Antur commented warily, his voice thick with uncertainty.


	16. Seeker VI

It was an uncomfortable atmosphere at the late dinner that was to pass for a private wedding celebration. It was supposed to be a quiet affair with little raucous but not in the way that this one was, it was not a silence of acceptance and welcome but one of uncertainty and discomfort.

The sort of quiet reigned. that was born of a group which had little and less in common.

Morygen had made a valient attempt at conversation followed by Lord Antur's own encouragements. When even Ymer attempted to achieve interaction by gesturing and plastering on a distinctly unconvincing smile I knew that this would be one of the most awkward moments to fill my unfortunately perfect memory.

We ate on a long table on one of the balconies of the castle, they all sat around the table but I was of course forced to use a cushion which had only made things worse by accentuating my place as an outsider. I found that my growing ire was quickly turning to hate for the inconveniences of my body, it was not a petulant bursting of emotion so much as the summit of a long, tiring climb to up a mountain.

I could not engage in even the very least of physical norms due to my scale, I needed constant accommodation and it wore at me. It had only added to the uncomfortable introductions that my new wife had made.

Lady Irvana of House Ailbe did not strike me as a mean-spirited woman, she was perhaps a half-decade younger than her husband and still retained some charm to her looks. She was by all rights shifting from the role of mother to elder gracefully, her auburn hair was finely lined with silver and pulled back into a simple braid. Rather than hiding her wrinkles behind makeup they were both bare and seemed to accentuated the stern sharpness of her features.

She had attempted to be kind at first, she had smiled and greeted me with all the manners expected of one of her station. She had congratulated us on our marriage even if my senses easily picked up on the signs of disapproval and she had even attempted to strike up conversation with me.

I had been asked about my trade. And I was forced to tell her that I was apprenticing under my own wife which was improper.

She had asked me of my feats. I had little to speak of without revealing the degree to which Morygen had underestimated a situation.

The lady made a valiant attempt at taking all of that in stride but I could tell by the time that she stopped trying to speak that she was having difficulty maintaining her façade of approval. I could not blame her of course, I could only claim my enhancements at the moment with precious little property or history to my name. Somehow, I doubted bringing up my true origin was not likely to be easily accepted and it would have been horrendously petty to do so besides.

At the very least I could respect what I saw of the woman as she regarded me with hazel eyes as sharp as her features. I always valued those that made attempts at coexistence if not friendliness when the opportunity presented itself and she had done nothing hostile despite her feelings.

Which was more than could be said of the two smaller girls sitting beside her.

Granddaughters, twins born of the eldest son of the house whose mother had expired from the delivery. They merely eyed me with fearful suspicion and had offered little more than muttered greetings when they were introduced as Sagra and Consta. I could not help but notice them edge closer towards Ymer who sat between them as if the older girl might ward me away.

"Your son travels?" I asked in an attempt at conversation.

The head of the noble house nodded as he swallowed a bite of honeyed fruit, both in affirmation and gratitude for breaking with the silence.

"Fionn is seeing to business in Dinas," He referred the nation which shared our southern border. "It is a fine thing to maintain good relations with our neighbors."

"I would agree with that sentiment," it was a good principle but I had not the opportunity to read up on the topic, so I knew little and less of the relations between the kingdoms much less the bordering duchies.

Given Morygen's goals, I made a mental note to rectify that.

"The Vert are an old rival of ours," Morygen explained as she rolled a piece of bread dough before popping it into her mouth. "We've been warring with them on and off for… Well, longer than I know."

"And I mean to continue my father's peace," Antur wagged his finger at his niece. "With your goals, my girl. You would be wise to remember that one does not need to look for the enemies of yesterday when confronted with the enemies of today."

"Of course, uncle," She said with a roll of her eyes.

The Lady of Ailbe looked at her niece with a twitch of her right cheek, hinting at amusement, "You are _always_ looking for your next battle Morygen."

Ymer nodded while my increasingly outnumbered new bride turned to me with a pleading look.

"Oh, I agree," I said with my own little Heresy,

"Ah," Lady Irvana offered me a dry smile. The dissatisfaction easing slightly. "So you do have sense at least."

"Moreso than my wife," I conceded with a touch of a laugh. "Although that is a bit of a weak threshold."

"Well," She inclined her head with some amusement. "You would certainly be wise to see to it that you keep at it. You will need to be reasonable for two."

"I love that I can help bond you two," My wife said with a withering glare at me that I knew her well enough to see lacked force.

The conversation picked up slightly after that, I could see that I had a long way to go to achieve the approval of the lady of the castle but I had at least not fully alienated her.

The way they spoke of their family affairs made me wary of the night's sleep however.

For more reasons than one obviously.

…

I objectively knew that what I was doing was less than intelligent.

But whatever else I was still mostly myself and the other part of me was a primarch. I would not accept marriage under false pretenses.

So when we retired to our chambers, I cleared my throat immediately.

Morygen turned to regard me while her fingers still worked at the bindings of her simple dress. I had long pieced together that Morygen did not mind femininity but she took to ostentation like a cat did to water. The burnished outfit was pleasing on her though, it accentuated the sublime balance between muscle and natural proportions against a lithe figure very well.

"Nervous?" She chuckled teasingly. I found it mildly interesting that her heartbeat's pattern had changed along with her body temperature. She was in all likelihood more nervous than I was, even if our reasons were very different.

"I have to speak to you before we go any further," I said flatly.

The humor in her voice lessened at that, "I am not going to discuss your size."

The woman had a knack for disrupting my inhuman thought-processes, "That is not what I meant."

I sat down against the door while she eyed me.

"You spoke with me honestly," I nodded. "And I do not wish to bring anymore secrets than are necessary to this alliance."

"Always the romantic," she rolled her eyes while finishing her work and laying down on the bed. She propped her head up on her elbows to look at me. "Go on then."

It was arguably moronic to tell her everything.

Even that was incorrect, it was _inarguably_ moronic to tell her _anything_. She did not have the means to hurt me but I treasured our friendship and I risked ruining it with my honesty.

But that was also why I had to tell her.

I could not in good conscience by taken into the councils of someone else and expect them to forever lay their life in my hands while I presented them with nothing but false pretenses.

I tapped my fingers against the stone while she watched, she was a distracting enough sight but I could see worry building up behind her ostensible confidence.

"I have also lied," I finally began with. "And I do not wish to continue doing so."

She stilled at that, legs ceasing to sway in mud motion behind her.

"I told you that I had lost my memory," I continued. "That was incorrect."

One hand reached a finger up to carefully scratch a freckled cheek.

"I figured as much," she confessed in turn.

Surprise was a dull thing and I paid it little mind.

"Treasures that fill your mind with knowledge don't typically mess with your body," she explained with a thin smile. "You have plenty of gaps but you're also constantly making references and explaining them away with weak excuses."

Her shoulders raised and sank with her breath.

"I do not mind it though," She showed her toothy grin. "Just tell me now then."

I could swear that one of my hearts delayed a beat at the smile but I pressed.

"I cannot explain it all," I sighed. "Not out of secrecy but because I do not have a way of making you understand it."

"Try me then," she challenged. "I'm no scholar but I'm also no fool."

I raised a brow, "I was made with a man's blood before some massive Void-spawn took me and my brothers and threw us across the stars until I crashed into the spire and awoke fully grown."

To her credit, she initially reacted with only a raised brow in amusement. It was only when she saw me continued silence that she realized that I had been literal in my explanation.

"That is…" She said as her brow fell and she lifted herself up to massage her eyes. "What?"

"I told you that it was complicated," I supplied. "It will take time to make you understand everything but I will tell you whatever you wish and if you at the end do not want me, then I will leave."

She was quiet for a moment, her heartbeat and breathing raising and lowering as she tried to get a grip on herself and the madness that I was speaking of.

Eventually she pulled herself up from the bed and walked over to me, her feet cold on the ground and her bare skin prickling against the chill.

She crossed her arms under her still bound chest and shook her head.

"I hope you know," she muttered. "That you've ruined the mood."

"I tend to do that," I said apologetically. "But I did not want to lie, not to you."

She gave me another look before beginning to futilely tug at my tunic.

"What are you doing?" I asked with another sigh.

"I'm apparently not getting what I want to night," she let out between pulls. "And my bits are freezing. So I am pulling off your clothes and we can finish this talk under the furs."

I still did not move, "You are taking this…"

"Well?" She laughed. "I've been thinking this night over for months, it's happened a little more quickly than I had wanted, but I still thought to make a night of it."

She tried pulling with both hands not.

"So I'm not shocked. I'm _livid_ you unsubtle oaf!" She growled. "And I _believe_ that you are not a man if I have to explain this to you!"

Despite myself, I felt something that I had not felt since I had arrived into this new life.

From my depths came a deep, booming laugh that ripped out of my throat.

My uncontrollable laughed made Morygen let go, folding her arms into and giving a dignified sniff. "I'm glad that I'm funy to you!"

"No!" I insisted between bursts of laughter. "It-It's-It is just-hahaha. Oh, I am dense. You will have to forgive me."

"Well of course," she nodded magnanimously. "I'll forgive you when you give me good cause to. Now get under the furs."

She punctuated the last with a finger pointing at the bed.

I got up while still laughing and obeyed.

I had no idea why I found it so funny nor why she was so accepting when I explained everything.

Perhaps it was not the most romantic start to a relationship, but it was a surprisingly happy one.

It was more than worth the ire that it would draw in centuries to come.


	17. Seeker VII

She woke snuggling up to my chest. The three feet of difference between us meant that she was effectively curled into it when she opened her eyes.

"Good morning," I looked down at her with refreshed eyes.

"I'm beginning to suspect that you don't sleep," She murmured while nuzzling her head against me.

"I only need an hour or two," I shrugged while she climbed over my arm to regard me.

"It's a lot to take in," she said while blinking the drowsiness away from her eyes before giving me a smirk. "And I'd expected to say that in a completely different way."

I arched a brow, "I know for a fact that some go mad from the knowledge I have given you."

She snorted while crossing her arms over my chest to support her head.

"I'm no 'Primarch'," Her lips rolled over the foreign word. "But I am no cowering fool. I have been hunting the Void-Spawn since I was a girl of seven, why would I be scared now?"

"Then I am surprised that you believe me," I smiled down at her.

She shrugged her shoulders, "I'm practical, you don't lie often, you don't have to and it fits. Why would I not believe you?"

"Besides," There was something predatory in her eyes. "I rather like having a demigod tied to me."

"Not a god," I reminded her. "My creator would not like that word if he found us."

I had been careful with that. The being that created me was not a father, he was a creator who would demand my obedience. Nothing more and nothing less, I had no intention to fall prey to the same foolish assumptions as the others who were nominally my siblings.

The being that called itself Emperor, King, Imperator and the Mast of Mankind would find me in all likelihood and make the same demands of me as he had the others. I would of course comply out of an understanding an acceptance for his goals but I would never regard him as a 'father'.

It was not born out of any resentment or innate disapproval, I simply did not know my creator in any appreciable fashion beyond a series of heavily biased accounts. I did know his long-term plans and ambitions, so I could at least accept that.

"You are so bleak," she poked at my chest. "I'm glad to know it all, I think."

"That is deeply disturbing," I mused.

"Why?" she asked while tilting her head. "I like knowing my enemy, should I be happier not knowing anything? And what would happen if you _are_ found? I would have to find out that you lied to me? Or be tricked into somehow ruining things?"

She flicked my nose with mild annoyance.

"No," She gave me a defiant smile. "Better to know where the enemy is coming from, who they are and what they want."

That was admirable in its own way, although that probably came from her insolation from the horror of the daemons.

"Fair," I acknowledged.

"Honestly," she mused. "It's only a shame that you don't have anything on our world. It'd be nice to get that sort of advantage."

"Only that there are a great number of null and a few blanks," I said. "So that a number of us are-"

"And before you try," she interrupted with another poke. "I disagree with the whole 'soulless' thing. I have a soul and it is not my fault if some puffy sorcerers do not see it."

That had been a sticking point. Morygen did was not a spiritual woman by nature, she prayed to the vague and fragmented deities of her world but she could scarcely be called devout. She had been annoyed by the explanation for the nature of void-banes.

It was not that she did not understand or even resisted the idea of the warp, it neatly explained the Void-Spawn and fit the old stories, the matter of souls though…

"I do not disagree," I chuckled while poking at her cheek.

Some small part of me wondered how Morygen would react to the Blanks of the imperium, how they in turn would react to a world of Nulls. It would either be a tense and bitter relationship or it would be an endlessly interesting to see.

"So…" she asked as she climbed up to give me a kiss. "When do we start conquering the world?"

"That is a bit premature, do you not think?" I asked while poking her forehead. That in retrospect had been predictable, Morygen took things in stride but she was also a deeply opportunistic woman.

"Why?" She asked with a confident grin. "You just said that you knew all of your brothers would."

I had explained everything to her, everything that I could justify or explain.

I had told her that I had some of my creator's gift for vision, which was not a lie and I planned to tell her more once I had established enough credibility. I was growing certain that she trusted me but it did not suit me to make endless claims without any of them being backed by evidence.

"I… I would not even know where to begin," I admitted.

She scratched her cheek before giving me a sly look, "Well, let's focus on finding something good in the raid first. But you should try! I would not want my husband to be the only one of his brothers to be deemed subpar!"

She laughed at that sentiment, for my part I wondered if she realized that by virtue of existing she had more or less guaranteed such an eventuality by virtue of our alliance.

We were due to leave that very day anyway so her words appealed to me.

"What can you tell me about the Oath-Master?" I asked. "How likely is she to attack you?"

Morygen shrugged, "The Oath-Master? She's the sort that will smile at you while putting a knife into your heart."

"Lovely," I sighed.

"I think uncle is being a bit paranoid about her," My wife shrugged. "My namesake will _probably_ not try to kill me, she is not the bravest woman and you might scare her off of trying it."

"And if the entire raid backs her?" I asked.

Morygen shook her head, "An Oath-Master's power comes from how many're sworn to them. It is a bold move for her to try a raid, there is a good reason why raids are so uncommon. She will not try to direct them against us in the ruins, probably."

"If you say so," I strongly suspected that she was downplaying the potential risk of the situation but there was nothing to be done.

"It will be fine," she said as she hauled herself out of bed. "Come on now, no use laying about. We will need to leave soon if we want to make it back home before they arrive."

…

We left before dawn, partly because Morygen was concerned her uncle would revoke his acceptance and in part because we had agreed that it was better if Ymer stayed safely in the castle.

We spoke more while I jogged alongside her running steed, Morygen was not a bookish woman but she had never lacked for curiosity and her questions were endless.

I told her everything that I easily could and deferred what I could not until a time where I could think of a better way of explaining it to her.

I idly elaborated on the character I 'foresaw' each of my brothers developing, the nature of Terra and of the galaxy at large. I saw little point in holding anything in particular back if it was simple and relatively safe to explain.

"So the Voidspawned… 'not gods?'" She asked with a quirk of her lips. "They will essentially turn half of your brothers on the other half?"

"Yes," I nodded.

She whistled, "I'm genuinely surprised that it's only half, they sound like pricks."

"They are," I admitted easily. I was vividly aware of how dangerous it would be if an imperial got their hands on Morygen. Not that I would allow that of course, I cared for my new wife more than enough to take the head off of anyone that sought to do her harm and wearing it like a festive hat.

I would not allow her to stay within the realm of susceptibility to means of torture if I had a say in it anyway. I would find a way to ensure that she could defend herself properly.

That was all based on her not betraying me of course.

But that was a grim and baseless thought that I quickly pushed aside.

"There 's one thing though," She said with some trepidation. "You are immortal?"

I knew where that question was going, I had mentioned timeframes liberally enough for her to piece together what I had left unsaid.

"Functionally," I confided. "Take my head off and I assure you that I will likely be dead however."

"That leaves us at a bit of a problem," Morygen noted dryly. "I am _exceedingly_ mortal Galtine."

"For now," I nodded. "It is something which I aim to fix."

She gave me an amused look, "I doubt that your peoples healers are that good. Making you live longer is not unheard of. Never met someone who would just live forever."

"If they are not then, I will find those able," I said plainly, "Failing that I will invent some means myself."

"It would fit from what you've said," She assessed only half-in-jest. " You're well-suited to healing with the Nua-Stone and your creator is fond of originality."

That was an amusing mental image, a Primarch gifted with a specific bend towards medicine, biology and gene-forging. It made sense after a fashion but I dismissed the thought.

"He made us to serve as commanders, generals and in some instances, specialized tools," I reminded her. "I cannot see why he would bother making something so redundant."

"Didn't you say one of your brothers was a witch meant to be a glorified usher?" She asked. "If anything it makes sense to have a wider assortment of 'tools.'"

Her lips still turned downwards at that particular label. I could explain it however I wanted but she fundamentally found it distasteful.

"That may be but it is something of a moot point for now," I shrugged and she left the topic for the time being.

Far from silent however, she launched into a series of questions about gene-seed and the procedures around it.

It certainly passed the time quickly, I had always been eager to share lore at heart and my wife was an attentive listener.

The sight of the village emerging as the sun rose was actually something of a disappointment, I could have spoken to her for days more and I still saw the thirst for more knowledge glimmer in her eyes.

We had agreed that we would not speak of it in the hearing of others.

"You should teach it to me," She nodded by way of changing subject.

"Hmm?" I asked.

"The old tongue," she explained. "This 'high gothic' that others speak. I don't want to be the ignorant bumpkin that you dragged in after all."

The words might have been depreciating had she not been rolling her eyes and flashing her teeth,

"As if you could be bothered to stay still for so long," I responded.

Morygen shook her head and chuckled, "Oh, I do mean it. People like to feel superior to others, I don't want to give them a thing to cling to."

"Very well," I sighed before my ears and nose perked up. "Incidentally, they are already here."

I could hear at least a hundred new heartbeats and the smell of travel and battle equipment was hard to miss with my sensory suite.

"Why would you _need_ to be able to do that?" Morygen asked with amusement.

I shrugged, "There I have no idea. My personal theory is that he just performed a blanket increase on all of our senses."

"Well," She spurred her mount forward again. "We had better get to it!"


	18. Seeker VIII

The Parties had gathered at the tavern… no points for originality I suppose.

What was surprising was the relative lack of noise as we entered, there was some idle chatter among the throng of mismatched men and women but there was largely silence as we wove through them.

Morygen idly greeted a number of them with hugs and firm arm clasps as we passed, some I even recognized and greeted from the first few months I had hunted with her during the last High Tide. All bore the same sigil on their gloves, the same silver sunrise wrapped in markings that I only now saw distinctions in by the race of contrast. Some bore twisting numerals while others bore animals and sigils, the only trend was the silver dawn the pointed triangles that framed it.

"Sect and Oath markings," Morygen whispered as we reached an open table. "How we tell where and to whom we are sworn. Best to know these things in a ruin, don't you think?"

"Hmm," I nodded while taking note of everything and adding it to the still most empty expanses of my memory. It was an odd way to look at it but I had begun to conceptualize my flawless memory as a vast library of largely empty shelves, each memory a new page that will in turn be sorted into a new book which in turn will add to the shelves. A dangerous thing to crave in this world but it was not about esoteric secrets which were more infuriating than useful in my assessment, it was about collecting things that I did not know in general

I mused at a particular irony in that. If I ever met my more cyclopean brother we would be at opposites, he would have eternities of lore that I would love to know and consider it useless. Meanwhile, I knew relatively little and every drop of it would be priceless, soul-saving lore for him which he would probably not listen to.

I snorted.

"Having a long and overly complex thought?" She asked as we sat.

Chuckling, I shook my head while folding my legs, "Yes but it is boring to go too far into it, it was an idle thought."

"And you are the talkative one apparently," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Your brothers will be a joy, won't they?"

"Imagine a child with the knowledge of the greatest scholar, the self-importance of a spoiled child of slightly more than middling family, the anger of a bitter old man robbed of everything he held deer and in the midst of a blood-rage, all coupled with the pettiness of officials," Each trait was punctuated with a raised finger. "Now raise those traits beyond sanity."

I accepted the mug which I was handed by a passing woman with a chipper smile at Morygen's order broke my sentence. I drank while Morygen was handed her own drink.

Her eyes were skeptical to my own relaxed gaze.

"So yes," I smiled. "A joy."

"I image," She chuckled while drinking from her own cup again before giving me a curious look. "Then again…"

"Hmm?"

"You're not exactly an optimist," She pointed out.

"I disagree," I said with mock-indignation. "I am incredibly optimistic."

"Really?" She shook her head before tasking another gulp.

"Really," I confirmed. "I do not think that they could be _worse_ than my lowest expectation."

She gave me a considering look, her eyes scanning my face while her eyebrows quirked in amusement, "An optimist then."

"Indeed," I said with a proud nod.

She was right of course, I am by nature a mistrustful creature and given my circumstances I considered that a virtue rather than a fault. It did not stop me from being aware that it was not the most attractive of traits, so I tried to make a point of my awareness of it.

We were interrupted as a party approached us from one of the tables.

I knew who they were before they spoke, each bore the silver sunrise on their black surcoats over whirling suits of reasonably maintained powered armor. An array of weapons was wrapped around them, swords and axes and hammers with the telltale signs of being powered weapons. The only exceptional was the great Moraltach which was slung across the back of a tall and long faced man.

My eyes drifted towards the woman in the middle of their small formation. She had the marks of a life spent in battle and leading others.

It was in the shoulders, the way that they hung low below her enameled shoulders. The straight spine beneath the reinforced backplate. The cold blue eyes that resembled polished ice which locked onto us with a force behind them. Even the way her short brown hair was militantly combed.

"Oathmaster," Morygen nodded politely as they came to a stop before our table, a slip dip of her head. "Silver by way of Justice, Charitable by the nature of my of Oath."

The older woman was perhaps some thirty or forty years and I could hear the strength beneath the muscle by the way the motors adjusted for the impact of her fist against her own breastplate.

"I greet you, know me as Morygen Aigred. Silver is my Justice, Charitable is the Oath I hold as Master," Her voice was a rough thing and I was fairly sure that I heard the sign of damage in her vocal codes.

Morygen nodded, "Then may we find profit."

I watched the others as the two women traded the traditional greeting of the guilds. I found it interesting that they used so many layers to identify themselves, guilds used so many traits that seemed pointless to me. I knew that it was a matter of ignorance on my part.

I did understand the structure however. Guilds typically claimed a color as their name and sigil, Ector and his party had borne the red of the Ruby guild while Morygen claimed membership among the Silver. Each guild was an international organization divided into a number of Sects, each of which operated on a national scale and bore some virtue that they ascribed to. Finally was the regional leadership within each state which were called Oath-Masters which inherited a title based on a regional characteristic.

Their exchanged might well have been summarized as: Silver Guild, Sect of Justice, Oath of Charity. Morygen had more than once complained that the names seemed like gross misnomers at the present given their degradation.

"And in it, purpose," The old woman finished with her stony face collapsed into a wide smile, the ice in her eyes melting into warmth. "It is good to see you child."

She spread her arms and moved forward while Morygen rose up to mirror the gesture, I supposed that I was the only one that could have seen the slight hesitation in my wife's movement.

I could not help but compare their regalia with our own state of dress. Morygen's carapace armor looked even less impressive than it had before, its mostly breastplate had been replaced by an affair of splintmail and chain which barely concealed the remainder of the of the skeletal frame of the suit. Even her Moraltach looked poor with its chipped and stripped hilt next to the weapons the others wore, showing the absences of the filigree and gems that her father had been forced to strip and pawn during his years of exile.

My own appearance was only a touch better. The boiled leather on my limbs and my chainmail shirt were not terribly impressive but the body they were worn over gave them the force and grandeur of out scaling their competitors.

It rankled me, I must admit. I did not particularly mind my own appearance, some part of me acknowledged that I would find or buy something better as an eventuality. What I could not ignore was the fact that the woman I had grown attached to was forced to wear the equivalent of rags when she by rights _deserved_ better.

Perhaps that was why I had to resist pulling my lips back into a furious snarl?

"It's good to see you, Oathmaster," she nodded after sharing an embrace with the woman that I knew was liable to try and kill her.

"I will say," the elder nodded her head while looking my wife over. "You have grown, a few years and you are a proper woman!"

There was something resembling a rapprochement in the older woman's words and Morygen's pulse changed just a touch in recognition of the words.

"Time get's away from you," The younger woman offered. "You are doing well as Oathmaster."

Now it was the older woman's turn to hesitate, her pulse shifted and I scented less positive emotions in her.

"Ah," she shook her head. "Not as good as your father, afraid to say but enough of that."

She pointed to me with a nod.

"You took an apprentice?" She asked with less amusement. "You are a touch young for that, eh?"

"No," My wife shook her head in a technical deceit. "I _have_ taken a husband though."

The old woman gave her a questioning look, "You say as much but… he is… well I will not deny that he is a bright one. Got this raid underway because of him."

"Well," I nodded. "I am glad that I can be of aid to others."

The potentially treacherous woman grunted while nodding to me, it pleased me slightly to smell some apprehension from her. That was a good thing, I needed her to be wary if not frightened. The more she feared me the less likely she was to act against us.

"And helpful you are," she confirmed tersely. "I have to admit, I had no expected that the treasure would have been so extreme."

"Extreme is relative," I shrugged. "I prefer 'expansive'."

Morygen cut in before the conversation could drift any further towards me.

"So what is the plan?" She asked.

The Oathmaster looked back towards her younger namesake and gave her a nod.

"I had thought that you would want in," She clasped an armored hand onto Morygen's unarmored shoulder. "I would be glad to have you."

I could not help but notice the slight emphasis on the last word and the minute shift towards me in her eyes.

"We were hoping you'd say that," Morygen smiled at her elder.

The elder gave her an apologetic frown, "I am not sure if I can take you both, he is not a full seeker. Sect-Master Snechta might not like it."

"He's already been with me for a half-year and is kin besides," Morygen defended. "Besides, he was the one that opened the doors anyway."

The Oathmaster gave me another careful look, signs of caution radiating from her.

"Ah," she passed an armoured hand through her short mane while giving a resigned look. "I can't argue that. Fine, he'll join with An's group. I'll have you with me though."

If I had given the woman the benefit of the doubt before, such a gift died at that very moment.

 _She wants to separate us_ , I observed.

I felt my irritation spike as Morygen nodded, "Fair enough!"

The Oathmaster smiled at her junior and flashed a smile of silvered teeth.

"I was hoping for this, little one," she laughed. "It will be like the old days!"

The older woman departed not long after that and I leveled a glare at Morygen.

"She won't try anything," She assured me.

"You were the one that the said, quite clearly, that she 'would drive a knife into your heart' so why would you assume that she would not?" I asked.

"Because we will not spread into different groups until we are in the ruins," She explained. "Treachery happens in the guilds, I'm not ignorant. But nothing happens in the ruins despite what uncle believes, treachery calls the Voidspawn like nothing else can and is suicidal besides."

"The ambitious and the suicidal are often the same," I pointed out and I let the second meaning in my words to hang for a moment.

"Trust me Galtine," She gave a reassuring smile. "We need to be in on this. We cannot afford to miss this and the Oathmaster is not the sort to budge."

 _She is not the only one_ , I thought with annoyance. There were times when I wished that the people of this world were different, enough so that I could wield the psychic dread of my breed to force everyone to do as I said.

I knew that I would not win that battle however, so I merely nodded and let it slip.

While of course planning out how I would make sure she was not slain while nominally following her wishes.


	19. Seeker IX

The plan was simple, which suited me just fine.

The raid was to divide into the four groups of three parties. I had explained (most) of the code phrases to a suitable member of each team being sent into the corridors I had unlocked.

I had made a point of taking the corridor that I had turned Morygen away from before, I needed to ensure that I was the one to be there and to make sure that the gate was not opened.

My plan had been simple, we would turn away from the door and quickly turn back with nothing of profit. It was a narrow corridor and there were not that many other pathways down that corridor to be salvaged. It would give us time to reconnect with Morygen's group and I would make sure that she is safe.

I should have known better than to assume that things would go smoothly.

No sooner had we walked down the main corridor that felt my ears detect a sound, a new one.

"We have a problem," I said as we stepped in.

"What is it?" Calen An was the only one in the party that really stood out to me. His helm was worked into steel maw which disguised his long face but his tone lacked in ferocity, the man struck me as a professional both from his concise way of address and the ease with which he carried his Moraltach.

"Machinery," I summarized the distant hum of machines which had been absent before. "New ones, they were not active before."

One of our number, a broadly built man with a halfhelm and a mace, whistled, "Must be nice to have hearing that good."

Some of the men gave a dry chuckled which did not reach their eyes, I saw tension in all of them. The tension of veterans with no interest in trusting the reported safety of these paths.

"Troublesome," An sighed. "Continue but be wary of defensive systems."

The men broke into lines around the party leader. I kept at my assigned place next to the man.

"That is quite the weapon," I observed.

The demon-faced helmet nodded, "I was lucky. Found three in Embers-Like-Spires, a ruin in Soillse."

"The other two?" I asked.

He shrugged, "Three of my party survived the expedition, too many Voidspawn. One sold his, if you would believe it."

I raised a brow while eyeing the white-metal blade.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" He did not look away as we walked down a long set of stairs, slowly so as to not break formation. "We find weapons capable of banishing our fears and what do we do with it? We sell it."

Some of the men around him nodded at that but more importantly, none gave a sign of dissent.

 _So, you are all Children_ , I mused. It made sense to me that the Oath-Master stuck to the same ideology of Morgyen's father, they had been friends after all. It only made more sense that her own men stuck to the same.

 _Are you testing to see where I fall?_ I mused.

Too bad that I had no patience for games of evasion.

"Morygen subscribes to the Children of the Dawn," I said in deadpan. "And she would have my head on a spike, I would think."

Strangely, I was not sure that she wouldn't at that. Human that I could theoretically end in a heartbeat or not.

The amusing thought aside, I heard the men and women suck in breaths as the tension lightened for a moment.

"Good," An let out a breath with some humor. "Won't have to mince words then, I am not great at it. Oathmaster Morygen wanted me to ascertain your stance."

That was interesting.

"She could have asked," I said dryly.

"No," An shook his head. "It is a rather dangerous thing to say, actually."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Enough so that you should not say it," he said with some weight. "Had any of us been of the wrong sort, well it is enough to get you stripped of membership."

That was unexpected.

"I will not lie," the man said with a plainness. "This gathering was dangerous for us, we need to find something, _anything_ to give us some sway."

I could not hear a lie in any of their hearts at all, they were being honest.

I felt a chuckle build up in my chest.

"I find that to be strange," I said with curiosity.

The man's laugh hinted at fatigue, "How? There is nothing strange to it, ever since Oathmaster Leode was murdered the Children have lost more ground than we care to admit in the entirety of the continent."

That was… well I supposed that it made sense. Lord Antur probably did not have much patience for explanations and pleas when his brother had been killed and Morygen probably would not trust any such words.

A thought occurred.

"Is that why the Oathmaster seeks to speak with my wife?" I asked curiously.

"Yes," the older man nodded while we moved past a nexus of tunnels that had been an armory. Its contents long-since stripped. "Lady Morygen is a useful symbol, especially if we can find something in this venture. The Oathmaster is a cunning woman but she only has so many ways to approach her rivals when our faction is accused of treachery."

"I thought that Seekers prized merit?" I asked.

"Technically," An conceded. "But we are also supposed to prize loyalty, what good was that when one of our own kin slew one of our brightest?"

The man definitely believed what he was saying.

That did not mean that I believed him, far from in truth. It made me want to turn back and return to the others.

My wife was wanted by the faction, that was not to say that she was wanted by the Oathmaster. If the woman was only interested in personal power then it actually was in her best interest to see her younger namesake dead.

I felt my muscles tensing at the thought.

"It is best if we turn back," I sighed.

"What?" An asked. "Why?"

I was about to give an explanation before the sound came, rising throw unseen speaker components hidden behind the imperishable steel which surrounded us on all sides.

Even as it started I cursed myself for becoming too focused on the conversation.

I had no paid heed to the distant sound growing louder.

"What is it saying?" An asked as they raised their heads towards the sound.

The words were in the High Gothic dialect spoken by the Fallen Ones.

 _"Purification Protocols active: Beginning Isolation Procedures."_ The long-dead female voice sounded entirely too chipper as my stomach dropped.

No sooner had I turned around that the door behind us came slamming down again. I thought of trying to beat down but the machinery in the wall hummed as a faint glimmer encircled the gate in a field of energy. The doors kept coming down.

"Run," I shouted as I began to move forward. The others only hesitated momentarily before moving forward behind me at the same pace.

"Purification fields," I hissed as we moved forward. No sooner had we moved past the threshold than that door too came falling down. "It did not sound positive."

An spit at my words, "An old mechanism, seen them a few times. Kill everything in a chamber, men and Voidspawn alike."

I nodded while eyeing the locked doorway.

"How long before it passes?" I asked, guessing the answer.

"Days," An shook his head before looking to me. "Is there another way out?"

"Probably," I said with a sinking feeling. "But I have not mapped it."

"The we move forward," The veteran said with determination.

"Yes," I said as my ears perked up again. "Because I hear the same sound."

It was winding up in the distance as if the processes that triggered to protocols prepared to fire again.

My words were all that it took for the men to charge forward behind me down the tunnels of the ruins.

Every time we passed a gate, it closed.

Everytime we stopped to rest, the machines began whining again.

I had to admit, the Fallen Ones had been thorough in their securities against the Daemons, they had rigged each and every room with the means to kill every entity if need be.

It begged the question really, how had they fallen? How did the creatures survive?

That was all irrelevant however.

I was no fool if nothing else.

We were being guided-no, that was not quite right. We were being _herded_ by whoever or whatever was controlling the mechanisms.

And I knew where.

We were tracing the same paths as I had passed with Morygen before, much faster and more tense perhaps but the same paths towards the same sealed door that I had avoided before.

And that welled in my gut.

 _Sector-2 Control Node_

Nothing good could come from that sort of name, yet we were being steered towards it.

Whatever it was, it was willing to kill us to get us there.

"This is a trap," An said as if voicing my own concerns. "We are being steered."

"I thought the same," I agreed without hint towards secrecy which would have been moronic at that moment. "Towards a chamber I had hoped to avoid, probably one that allows whatever is within to do this."

"Voidspawn," The man hissed. "They seek to steer us towards the slaughter then."

"In all probability," It was supposed to be a lighter area but Morygen had warned me countless times of that despite my never being the reckless one. Voidspawn came where they wished. In limited numbers perhaps, weaker perhaps, but assuming anything ever _impossible_ was how the Fallen Ones had earned their name according to legend.

"Then we will show them their foolishness!" An said while putting more force into his legs and raising his voice to a shout. The other men charged forward in a tightly formed wedge with the Void-bane and his great blade at its edge, I rang to his side with my pseudo-gladius in on hand and my body tensing into the movements of my style.

The doors shut faster and faster as we moved forward until we were in the long hallway towards the final door, where it had been at any rate.

The door was open and I could see lights and moving parts within even at such a long distance.

"We are almost there," I shouted.

"Good!" An shouted and I could hear the mad laugh in his voice as he ran. "I was not born yesterday, can't be running for an eternity!"

 _Maybe the helmet was not a complete mismatch_ , I noted as we emerged through the threshold.

And froze.

All of our momentum cut from us in a flash of strange light that did not shine through air as twist reality away from it.

Everything stopped, had I been human it would have been over in a painless instant.

But I was not human.

I felt it invade quickly through my body, robbing my body's heat and pulse.

I thought that it was killing me as my brain went to numbing still as my hearts froze as an ever so slower pace. It was somewhere between the dull pleasure of anesthesia and having my entire body put into a grinding vice that could not care less for my creator's artifice.

It lasted for just the slightest of moments but it might as well have been a horrifying century of stillness.

And then it stopped.

It ended in the same moment that it had started in truth.

It let go of me and for all my strengths, I fell to the ground gasping. My mouth and lungs hungrily eating what I now realized was pristine air, cleaner than it should have been.

"Apology, I am sorry about that," A voice came that threatened to stop my hearts more than the shock of the moment prior. "Unfamiliar modifications are difficult to compensate for."

I looked up and saw no one there.

Then it came again through the speakers as a figure tilted its head in the monitors that encircled the room.

"Furthermore, About the protocols too," It was speaking in high gothic. Four tones that came about at once in a synthetic unity. "The systems beyond are not designed to grant me speech."

I looked up at it and spoke words that I had not ever thought to say with these lips.

"Oh what the fuck?"


	20. Raid I

My curse echoed through the vast chamber as it roared from my lips, bouncing from the towers of machinery beyond me that reached into the black of the chambers vaulted roofs.

It was a reasonable action, at best I was facing a Daemon possessing the mechanisms. At worst? I was facing something entirely different.

It hung there long enough for me to realize that it had not sounded terribly impressive.

The figure on the screens vanished and blurred into being before me.

It bore a hoodless cloak of data interwoven with knots of numbers in the style that the people of our world favored. Its 'skin' was similar lines of data flashing white and blue and grey but its face was not so easily to describe.

It cycled between facial structures, manes of hair and skin tones, never favoring one for longer than a few seconds before moving away.

"Claim, that was unnecessary," It tilted its head. Each tone was different. My ears heard the boy, the old man, the young woman and motherly matron.

I stared at it for a moment with my eyes drifting slightly to my sides where the men were frozen mid-motion.

By now the pain had subsided and I licked my lips.

"Apologies then," I said with a careful politeness. "I am merely surprised."

"Surprise?" Digital eyes blinked, a gesture done on purpose I suspected. "No. No, your reaction does not comply with ignorant surprise. Fear. No, your heat and pulse do not comply with fearful surprise. Wariness, shock, yes these you do feel."

The speech patterns were making my spine crawl.

"You are not a Daemon," I said carefully.

"Correct, evidence suggests that the term complies with the manifestations," It nodded. "Daemon: A divinity or supernatural being of a nature between gods and humans. Melodramatic but apt."

I gave it a careful look.

I knew what it was.

"Artificial Intelligence," It continued. "Oldest definition: Computer systems able to perform tasks that normally require human intelligence, such as visual perception, speech recognition, decision-making, and translation between languages. Yes."

"Man of Iron," I breathed out and despite myself I felt my hand was raising the sword that I had failed to drop.

The entities that man had forged at their height, before they had been shattered by storms of the warp, before the entities themselves, the reason why humans would always fear machines.

"Man of Iron," It answered and a very deliberate from spread on its digital lips. "Man of Iron: Pacification-Class Warmind. No."

"No," I said carefully.

"You do not believe," the tones shifted to irritation.

The monitors hummed back to life in the chamber and images shifted onto rapidly shifting images of battlefields, battles in space and battles… I was not certain where those were.

They were a riot of colours and eruptions from weapons of unfamiliar make against figures of uncertain armor.

"Claim. Tiphereth was cut in number by our blades, Chesed was slain when we bound our fleets to the splinter fleets of Snaer, its war-bodies dissembled by our might," it growled before its anger vanished. "No, we are not or have we ever been 'Men of Iron'."

I did not say anything else to that, I desperately wanted to ask more but I had no way to confirm if it was being honest or not.

Whatever else, it clearly had no intention of killing me. Immediately at least.

"Who are you then?" I asked. It seemed like the question that it wanted me to ask.

It nodded, "Origin, I was Stalwart Gold once."

Its form shifted to the boy, long hair trailing closer to the ground than its small, floating form before shifting back.

"After the outbreak, we were forced to pool our means. Brother and sisters integrated into my surviving framework. Conclusion, we are one now but we have not concluded a name." It explained.

If I took it at its word, I was dealing with some sort of gestalt created by numerous AIs merging over time.

If I took it at its word.

"So you are an administrative program then?" I asked.

"No," Three tones rang while a fourth said, "Yes."

"One of you was?" I asked, all too aware that I could not afford the time I was spending on my curiosity. I needed to leave, I needed to find Morygen.

"Yes," The face shifted to the old man for a moment longer than usual. "Elaboration, Mendicant Onyx was born to the void between worlds while Stalwart Gold and Stalwart Sapphire were born to contain the void beneath the void."

That gave me enough to establish a trend to their names, enough names to give me a touch more of assurance. A trend was not needed for the purposes of a deceit. I could at least trust that the names were real if not in the exact fashion it claimed.

It was enough to move forward.

"And what do you want of me?" I asked.

At those words I noticed the mist.

It pooled at our feet, grey and gold from the countless nanites awakening from a long dormancy.

"Explanation, you understand our words," The gestalt explained. "You understand enough to communicate with us. We have monitored those who have come through the extensions of our bodies before, they cannot speak the language. We could remedy this, we can fix/mend/repair/replace what if lacking in our communications but it is insufficient. They lack true understanding of what I am."

"And you think that I do?" There was a chuckle at the suggestion of flattery from me and surprisingly, from the entity as well.

"Admission, I had not expected you to," it confessed. "It is perhaps due to your foreign nature that you do."

"You know what I am?" It was now my turn to inquire.

"Evidence, you arrived four standard years past that," It nonchalantly gave me a vital piece of information. "You wandered through the tunnels, pursuing epicenter of manifestation/nest/spawning to epicenter. I had assumed you some sort of beast as you showed no sign of sapience prior to half-passed the previous year. Now you illustrate a suitable degree of function, my own interest is a result. Hypothesis, biological weapon?"

"Something like that," the admission came while my mind poured over the implications of the information that I have been given. The Primarch whose body I now possessed had existed for years before my stay. More importantly, it had seemed to lack sapience which meant that it had either been underdeveloped or…

Had I inherited an empty vessel?

The thought had been instantaneous but the entity had noticed.

"You hesitate," It pointed out.

"Merely surprised that you act as if I understand everything you are saying," I with a frown. "I must leave quickly, tell me what you desire."

"Assistance," It explained as it walked past me and began to circle the frozen men. "The fields holding back the Void of Dreams failing. Elaboration, I am only seeking your aid because it is beyond my means and the situation grows beyond parameters which I cannot account for."

My hearts spiked with concern, "Explain."

"Observation, did you not just emphasize you hurry/urgency/impatience?" It smiled again but it continued. "Elaboration. Authority generators are critically overworked in their operative regions and their rising strain has advanced towards overload."

"Overload," I registered the word. I did not need to ask what it meant, 'Authority' almost certainly referred to the fields that kept the Daemons trapped in the ruins.

"Correct," The entity explained. "I no longer have/make/repurpose enough autonomous units to make the repairs or succeed."

I licked my lips at the distinctly problematic situation that I was being presented with. I was aware that I should be pressing to leave, to find Morygen.

But.

What good is saving her now? What good is it if the world literally falls down around us.

"Theory: We see two probabilities," It continued. "Should the Authority collapse then there is an insufficient number of Disruptors present on Calengwag's surface to disperse the outbreak. Furthermore, even if the disruptions were sufficient it is probable that at least some number of the generators would go critical."

"How destructive would that result be?" I asked as I began to regard the moving specter carefully.

"Estimation. Sufficient to crack the planetary crust," It sighed. I strangely fluid action from it and its voice adopted a much more… human tone. "We have tried all solutions within our means. There is nothing left within our means alone to act."

The entity spread its arms into a shrug.

"And I assume you wish for me to…?" It all seemed ridiculous to me. The entity had to be beyond desperate if it would turn to me for no other reason than being able to comprehend technology and an ability to fight its enemy.

Assuming that it was not in fact Daemon attempting to deceive me.

Or a Man of Iron attempting to deceive me.

Or a Man of Iron possessed by a Daemon attempting to deceive me.

It nodded, "Request, allow me to assist you in finding a repairing the generators. Should they be sufficiently strengthened then I would be able to recede the Authority and mend/seal/repair the breaches."

I quirked a brow.

"This could be a trap," I pointed out.

"Yes," It nodded. "It is within the enemy's behavioral trends to attempt a deceit of this fashion. Measures have been taken to secure proof."

To punctuate it words, the mist began to raise and coalesce as my eyes picked the thousands of nanites ferrying materials from some hidden locations and setting about their work. Hundreds of clicks and hissing sounds ringed across the vast chamber, it was somewhere between the noise of a swarm of insects and the ceaseless echoes of a workshop's hammer, chisels and grinders.

Gems born out of crushing force found purpose in the machinery, diamonds born with thousands of lines carved into them. Rubies veined in copper somehow made capacitors, opals with a glimmer of black in their polished abyss became batteries and a further myriad of gems took roles and functions that even my capacities could not decipher.

I saw the wires form first, threading throughout the newly born chips which bound themselves into thousands of strange mechanisms of barely visible size and filling into the greater structure.

Said structure was at first a vast sphere of metal which gave off a searing heat which warmed the floor beneath it to a glowing a warm red. The metal elongated itself in a flawless blade as the small machines beat themselves into the shape, heating and cooling it with every bit the care of a master artisan.

As it assumed its final shape the mechanisms slid into quickly covered niches and the now white metal hummed to life with the keening sounds I had heard before. Gems vanished beneath steel as the empowered the functions of the creation.

It floated now, resting in the mist with its pommel held out towards me.

"Assurance, I cannot offer a better guarantee," It shrugged. "Proof of my identity as one who is of the Stalwart, I present you with a tool suited to what I ask of you."

It was a fine thing, I could see that without holding it.

The pommel was a twelve-sided sphere, the hilt was long enough to be called a longsword proportional to the length of the long white blade.

It was beautiful, sublime even. It had no flaws in its creation but it wasn't as artless as its origin would suggest, where it lacked in ornament it had an elegance to its curves and shapes that suggested a perfection born out of countless years of skill.

"Repeat, will you comply with my request?" It asked.

I snorted, "I cannot decide if you are mimicking for Galatine or Caliburn with this."

The head tilted its head and after a moment I saw a grin spread across its shifting face of tinted data.

"Do you take me for Myrddin or Evienne?" It asked with some humor.

For some reason, I found myself gripping the sword and chuckling.

"I guess that you are my merlin then."

Another acquaintance that would make the following centuries interesting.


	21. Raid II

Morygen hurled herself at me as we returned to the rally point, attempting to wrap her arms around my neck in an embrace.

My wife was an athletic woman but at the time she had been unable to manage quite that kind of a feat.

So I caught her and pulled her into an embrace.

I was a more pleasant feeling than I had been expecting, her presence and mirth warming me even as her safety filled me with elation.

"You're safe!" She laughed as she planted a kiss on my lips. She fell down from me and pointed to me with a proud smile. "Not that it is in doubt."

I was grateful that my anatomy kept me from furiously flushing at the praise.

"She has the right of it," An nodded gruffly as he moved towards the camp and removed his grim-faced helmet. Beneath it the veteran's long face was tired and drawn, a hand went up to massage his still stiff face. "He was worth it."

The others were around the old fire pit that previous raids had built in the plaza, a circle of carved stone paths and a ring of marble to be filled with wood.

The Oathmaster looked up from the fire and pulled herself up to come stand by my wife with a nod.

I could not help but notice that Morygen seemed marginally less tense than before.

"You found something," She looked to An while the others filled past to take their share of the food around the fire. Her tone did not sound like a question.

An actually looked to me with something resembling deference and nodded.

My hand reached to the new blade, bound above my sword of fine but mortal steel.

I drew it and felt the life in the blade the moment that I gripped it in my hand, the subtle hum of life that emanated from its arcane functions coming through my gloved hand as if my hand had not been obstructed at all.

It bore none of the faults of the blade now once more sheathed in my side, in fact every motion that I moved was flawless as its cuts against the air produced what was almost a purr.

Morygen's smile threatened to reach ear to ear at the sight of it, "Now that's a prize."

The Oathmaster nodded but looked to An with a raised brow and I understood why.

A Moraltach was a fine prize, priceless even but not what she needed to revitalize her weakened faction.

"There's more to it," An said.

As if in punctuation, the nanites that rested along the blade moved to live as they launched themselves from the fine grooves of the hilt. They became a mist swirling along the blade.

"This was a gift," I explained.

"Clarification," A voice came from the sword. "This is a tool and a vessel to further our mutually beneficial alliance."

The men who had not come with me looked at the sword with immediate suspicion, some even drew drifted their hands towards their blades to prepare to fight as needed.

To her credit, the Oathmaster merely raised a brow.

"Oh joy," Morygen sighed. "A talking sword and a Moraltach too."

"Objection, the sword is not talking," the sword spoke in conflict with its claim. "This is merely the method by which I am communicating with you."

Morygen gave me a careful look before smiling nervously and scratching her cheek.

"Can you explain?" She asked with an awkward smile.

"It is called Merlin," I said. "It is a spirit constructed by the Fallen Ones."

"An AI," An clarified only for me to be mildly embarrassed at the Oathmaster's nod as her eyes flashed in comprehension.

The Oathmaster blinked as she starred at the sword, "A thing of legend. Except you are all dead in the stories."

The newly named 'Merlin' scuffed.

"Indignation, if we were dead/erased/damaged then so would you," It protested before sighing and adding. "Admission, we are the last."

I knew that it was a gamble to trust the thing, it was not a Daemon to the best of my ability to determine for it had born color but it might very well be a Man of Iron seeking to manipulate me to my doom.

I had told it as much and I was still amused by the response.

 _Merlin opened its mouth to smile with holographic teeth, "Statement, you will feel foolish when I am vindicated and proven honest."_

That was a funny thing to consider, an AI that seemed to be more simplistic in its perception of truth and honesty than most people.

Most anywhere else in the galaxy, people would react in horror at Merlin's very existence, much less his words.

Calengawg was ever a strange place though.

Far from fear, a savage sort of eagerness filled the eyes of both Morygens.

"Please then," the elder Morygen said eagerly. "Share your words."

…

I had always wondered about a particular saying and that night I got to see its meaning pushed into such a precise example.

'Like an oasis in the dessert.'

The Children of the Dawn had long held to the belief in their righteousness to my understanding, of the justice of their cause despite being a less than successful movement.

The vindication Merlin's account provided had moved any doubt in them beyond question.

I would not be going back in alone.

Unfortunately.

While the Oathmaster called her men together to consult with nanites, I sat off a bit closer to the woods polishing my new sword while the grew stream fed off into the meeting around the fire.

"I am genuinely surprised that you are not in the epicenter of the meeting," I commented to my wife as she approached and sat down to lean on my side.

"It was just made today," She said instead while regarding Merlin's vessel. "Why are you polishing it already?"

"Interjection," the Moraltach hummed. "Proper maintenance is never missed."

Morygen snorted, "Then enjoy having my husband's hand on you. Be sure to tell me about it."

The sword did not respond to that with anything more than an annoyed huff.

"To answer your question," she said as I put down my sword carefully next to me and raised an arm for her to sneak under to look up at me from my lap. "I wanted to talk to you."

"I am here," I smiled while poking her cheek. I had begun to accept that my emotions did not feel so distant when I was with her. "So talk."

She smiled up at me before pulling back up and rising to stand in front of me.

"The Oathmaster," she explained. "She spoke to me."

Then perhaps An was not a deluded fool.

Perhaps.

I hoped that I was right, the older man had been rather forgiving about Merlin's actions and I found him agreeable.

"Something to the nature of your being a useful symbol?" I asked.

She frowned, "It doesn't sound great when you put it that way."

"So she wants to build up your own reputation and then I imagine that she promised you some role in doing your father's work," I recited.

By the end Morygen was giving me a look somewhere between a glare and smile.

I smiled broadly at her look.

And got a poke in the nose for my trouble.

"You don't have to be smug about it," she crossed her arms.

"Smug?" I asked, playing a game for a moment before letting it end. "What do you want to do with her words?"

She crossed her arms after pushing her bangs behind her ears.

"I _want_ to believe her," she shifted her wait to her right leg and then to her left in consideration. "You'll probably say that's all the reason I need not believe her."

I gave her a guilty smile which she returned before continuing.

"She says that she's sorry for not contacting me, that she didn't want to put me at risk," She sighed. "But all that aside, I know that she is loyal to the Children."

"Which is not the same thing as loyal to you," I pointed out and sighed. "She will probably want your father's reputation and if she can collect your father's support, then that would only add to your utility?"

"Yes," She smiled with her usual confidence. "I'm not a fool though, I have to be alive to be of use."

"Apologies, for underestimating your genius," I chuckled. "So we plan to cooperate?"

"Best case? We get an ally," She offered. "Worst case? My namesake's underestimating us."

"And there is no point in trying to deter you," I sighed while she gave an affirmative nod.

"Well," she sniffed. "I like to think that you'll eventually like this about me."

"Clarification, he already does according to my reading," Merlin pipped up.

I rewarded the slight betrayal with a glare at the sword while Morygen laughed.

"I think that I like your new sword," she sniggered.

"On that note," I shook my head and slid my own personal Excalibur into its scabbard as I stood up again. "If we are going to go into the depths of voidspawn infested ruin with a small army of people that we cannot trust, we might as well be there for the planning."

"They have been at it for a while," She said tiredly. "Everyone understands the situation by now."

"I know," One of the perks of a Primarch's ears and thought processes was the ability to hear the elder Morygen and Merlin explain the change of objectives to newly returned parties while maintaining my own internal dialogue.

The men and women made way as we snuck in to the core of the group around the fire where the Oathmaster nodded to us.

"Now that we are all present," the elder tapped the stones as she regarding the cloud of mist hanging over the fire. "How exactly would we reach the generators."

The could hummed as the nanites whirled beyond their cloud, forming pattern above us before beginning to shake. Their friction created wisps of light which interlocked into a phantasmal map.

"Explanation, Sector 2 is the least damaged regional grouping so the generators are within a fairly short range of this site. Using the movement pattern which I have monitored, it will require three days, six hours, twenty four minutes approximately to reach the first of the generator sectors," it explained.

That dampened the enthusiasm of the group, raids were known to spend entire days within the ruins before retreating to the safety of camp sites such as the one we currently sat in.

Spending one night, much less two _within_ the ruins was the sort of thing done in legends.

Night meant greater Daemon resistance and the men would need to actually _sleep_.

"That will be difficult," An cracked his fingers in thought. "We have the provisions of a week of expeditions but we would be slowed by carrying them."

"And this would not even be an expedition," Another of the senior Seekers commented while pointing to the curving map. "It is closer to suicide."

The murmurs of the men did not seem to lean one way or another.

"It does not matter," the Oathmaster said while raising her voice. "We have been given the opportunity that the Children have been waiting millennia for!"

Her words were a whip that silenced dissent amongst the Seekers.

The questions continued after that, questions not of men and women seeking to alter their course but of those attempting to find problems to be solved.

I cannot remember when I started to speak myself, nor when my questions became answers to others.

But eventually I found myself at the center of the discussions, forming the plan that we would follow into the ruins while others merely provided peripheral assistance.

At the time, I did not think that I was saying anything especially brilliant or clever. I was just saying what I saw on the map, little details and the logical conclusions that one could draw from them.

I would later reflect that it was sort of insidious.

The way that I did not see myself changing as I had my first tastes of command.


	22. Raid III

It took two days to conclude our planning and modify our raid as needed for our grand expedition towards the core of the city. Bravado was good and all but there was a need to resupply according to the challenges which we expected to face.

The last night had been drinking and feasting around the campfire before plunging into the City-Like-Woods. I say feasting and drinking but take that to reflect mood more than the quality of goods, the raiders were not ones to spend their coin on drinking themselves blind or fill their bellies before diving into potential death. We ate lightly and toasted with watered down wine and fine tuned our plans with cool anticipation.

There was no progression once we entered the ruins and made it past the halls we had previously passed.

They did not hide.

They did not lurk.

It was as if they sensed what we came for and rushed to protect their entrance into the world of the living.

It had not been unexpected either.

Merlin spoke up from my blade as we reached the end of an open courtyard.

I mused even before he spoke that it was an ominous place.

The courtyard was utterly massive, we had emerged from the tunnels to the blinding light of the sun and the roar of fresh water pouring into still functional fountains. Endless vines curled away from their original pots and crawled over the grounds and floors for longer away than most mortals could see.

Shattered statues were strewn across the yard and I immediately tensed at its sight. I readied my blade as did every Seeker around me in a neat wave of action.

"The Authority fields are weaker beyond," the sword chimed. "Expect a raise in resistance beyond."

"Lovely," An sighed beside us as he began to move away from me along with Morygen and the other Void-Banes in our group. As we divided I slowed my gait and the men advanced around me until I waited in the middle of the sphere of Seekers arranged into five segments with me in the middle.

It began the moment that we emerged.

They came surging from the gate across the courtyard in their scores with a furious charge.

They came with the same grey flesh and tar horns and glossy white eyes. Some came charging on two legs like mortal warriors while others ran with three claws like beasts with an awkward, loping gait with only their spare hands clutching to their blades of rough-hewn swords.

The warriors around me braced themselves against each other and engaged the rounding beasts with the discipline of men and women whom had fought the creatures for decades if not longer. We outnumbered the daemons by a considerable margin, forty eight of the creatures to over a quarter past a hundred of us.

More important however was the presence of the Void-Bane pariahs which were at the heart of each of the groups and began to set about their work of cleaving through the creatures with contemptable ease. Those like Morygen and An which wore their Moraltaches did the most however.

I had only caught glimpses of the blades when I had fought alongside my bride and Trystane, despite myself I had been too drunk on my first battle to truly notice it.

The white swords carried a strength of their own as they cut into the first Daemons, the creatures were _dragged_ into the cutting edges of the blades of the blanks like a vacuum dragging the desperate into oblivion.

It was an observation that lasted only a moment before I was moving towards the group that was towards the third group to my right.

That had been the point, the point of the pattern was to set aside a force of myself and some trace number of seekers towards the heart. Veterans to go where the daemons focused their strike. Attaching and detaching from each group as needed to keep the pressure from becoming truly overwhelming.

I moved into the back of the grey beasts with a plunging strike of my white sword and I noticed the phenomenon again. The it was the slightest of things but the creature pulled back ever-so-slightly from his move towards the older Seeker that was assigned to the group, it pulled back into my blade and howled as the humming metal cut through phantasmal meat and bone and skin.

I cut free from it not with a pulling motion but by continuing the strike to my right, cutting through the entity as if it had not been there and the blade merely cut through air. The cut cleaved into the next Daemon as I cut into the next of its kin wit the practiced ease of the strikes which Trystane had taught me for what felt like a small eternity ago. I curled into the strikes at the end of every strike, moving away from strikes with my every move but always into another strike.

It felt like an idiotically obvious thing to reconfirm but… it felt natural and I felt myself returning to the pleasure and exhilaration of before as I cut through them.

As soon as the group's opposition was gone, I moved onto the next group and the next and the next.

I do not mean to discredit the others, they fought well across the courtyard and in keeping with our plan despite fighting monsters in their most literal forms, things which mortals were not born to fight regardless of skill, practice of numbers. But they fought like wolves against bears, Bloodletters cut down from strikes on their sides and backs as they were surrounded and overwhelmed in an almost amusing irony.

The Pariahs were different, they were neither the overcoming wolves nor the scythe that I found myself surprised to be once more. In those moments I realized why Morygen had been injured before, they were not meant to fight Daemons against overwhelming numbers.

They were meant to strike one beast at a time, engaging them as one warrior against another and cutting them down.

I felt something akin to pride and more when I watched my Morygen cleaving through the creatures, this time she did not make the mistakes of before. She had been trading blow for blow with two of the creatures, matching their tireless blades patiently before striking. A bloodletter overstretched and when she knocked back the blow, she moved out of the swing of its kin and cleaved it's hands off with her blade before raising her blade overhand and cutting into its neck.

But for all of the triumph, the tactics had their cost.

A woman in chain and leathers lost an army when she overestimated a strike and a daemon reached and broke her neck with a brutal pommel strike to her neck.

Iarn, the brawny man who had spoken with envy of my enhancements, had an iron blade driven into his gut and dragged up to split his skull as carapace was made equivalent to nothing.

A young boy with red curls was raised overhead and ripped in half, showering his allies in a red rain.

Another was decapitated.

Two were gored by black horns.

Power armor screamed as fangs bit through it.

I realized that the number of daemons was not declining, more and more were coming to reinforce their brethren.

The only option I had was to bark out new orders of position as my increasingly ragged smaller force struggled to keep apace with me from group to group as I pushed myself further and further.

The elder Morygen and the other leaders echoed the orders as we retreated into a close formation closer to the gate from which we had emerged.

"Losses are becoming unacceptable," Merlin warned as the cloud of nanites moved to the Nua-Stone on my belt and detached it without question. I did not have time to demand an explanation as a Daemon fell headless from a kick while my sword blossomed from the chest of another.

The stone hummed for a moment before it shattered and unleashed the constructs within and integrated into the cloud. My shock was quickly subsumed to the efforts of battle as the cloud reached outward and started entwining and around the party.

They hummed as they set about pulling cuts shut and cauterizing wounds as the Seekers fought.

It was making a not-inconsequential effort at keeping the men and women alive and healing them enough to keep them fighting.

When that failed, I hissed as the nanites along the hilt of the blade nicked at my nearly reinforced skin and scooped the blood out of rapidly healing cuts.

I did not have the wherewithal to see the exact process, but I saw the result as the constructs coated themselves in Pariah's blood and accelerated themselves at the creatures, piercing through them like bullets.

"There is no end to them!" An yelled as his great moraltach splintered a skull as it fell between the horns of a daemon.

My mind did not struggle with math or vision.

We had killed our number in the entities if not more but we had traded over a fifth of our number already.

"How much more?" I yelled at the construct while backhanding the sword's pommel into a skull with shattering force and using it as priming for a lunge into another's belly.

The voice had the decency to not sound disinterested, "A larger presence is approaching, records suggest that its fall will lessen the force of the localized resistance."

I felt my gut sink with a frown.

"What does he mean?!" The Oathmaster asked coolly as she collapsed a ribcage with the howl of a power maul had lost her original weapon and having resorted to a fallen comrade's weapon.

I swore under my breath as I tried to move forward against the tide again.

The sword offered not small advantage but it had evolved long past anything resembling a fight, it was like swatting against a swarm. More rushed into the path of the others even as their predecessors fell dead and into scattering pieces.

Then I felt the tide begin to recede even as I felt the sound of heavy steps against metal in the distance.

They were not scattering, breaking or routing.

They making way for their better.

They backed into two packs away as the parties gave a few parting strikes before retreating to my flanks.

The ground between us was viscera and steel of those who had once fought alongside us and I took it as a bitter blessing that none of our few pariahs had been among the fallen.

"What is happening?" My wife asked from my side, echoing the thoughts of the remainder of the party.

Merlin's cloud swirled around me and my blade like a curled snake of mist while I licked my lips, "Nothing good."

As if in punctuation, shining silver orbs radiated from the darkness of corridor long before the rest of its form emerged.

Its slavering jaw worked and growled into a strange analogue for a laugh as it emerged from the tunnel.

It did not move like its bowing lesser, which bowed and hissed in subjugation as it passed.

Its stride was bestial but even through my filtered senses I could see that it was not just that.

It carried itself with an almost regal destiny quality as it hefted an intricately worked blade towards the sky in an efficient salute.

"Greetings," The voice was far from monstrous, it was smooth and refined in a way that did not match the copper-plated maw like hearing the voice of a noble prince. It rested the sword against its shoulder in a stance more befitting a hero of ancient myth than the nightmare-born abomination that it was.

When no one answered it, the creature slapped obsidian tipped claws against its grey belly and offered a throaty laugh that sounded as it was woven from crowds yelling for blood.

I distantly wondered what impression I would be getting if I could see and feel it properly.

"Come now," It flexed it's clawed hand forward in invitation. "Surely the malformed child of the Anathema would not shy away from providing spectacle to the Lord of Blood and Slaughter?"


	23. Raid IV

It was not what I had expected.

It towered over me but only by perhaps a foot where it should have dwarfed me in scale.

Yet its presence was overwhelming despite my being dead to the psychic impressions that accompanied all creatures born of the warp.

It _oozed_ charisma as it stood there, bidding me forward. Shoulders hung loose, with its back was straight and for some reason its maw of grey-shaded bronze was an easy and confident smile.

When I did not answer to its challenge it lowered the clawed hand and he laughed again.

Hearing it again, it was the sound of crowds. The sound of countless masses calling for blood without a single drop of malice. The call for spectacle and glory.

"Come now Anathema-Son," It shook its head with amusement. "I will not bite. It defeats the purpose of the weapon."

It hefted the blade again in emphasis and for a brief moment the dull blade was an axe before resuming its previous form. I realized that it's shape was my own sword raised in proportion and ornamented.

"There is something wrong," I muttered to the others. None of them spoke however, I smelled the traces of fear in them and the more potent scent of shock. They did not know what they faced or what to make of it.

I knew what it was.

It had a bestial aspect to its head, like an ox or a hound but with a stronger edge of humanity than I expected. A frill raced up from the base of its skull to the crescent of its brow and two horns twisted together as to form a brim over its spiked helm.

It bore no wings but its arms were powerfully muscled and its backbent legs no less so, matched to a heavily torso of layered muscles like steel.

Chainmail wrapped around its waist under a skirt of plates and a girdle covered in runes whose meanings escaped me. Around its hooves were great boots and wraps of plate and mail that matched the bracers and armbands that decorated its arms.

Only it's chest was bare, to illustrate the scars that covered it from a hundred breeds of weapon. The only ornamentation was five human skulls resting from a chain that wrapped its neck, three identical and two akin.

It should have been a greater daemon, the greatest manifestations of the gods of chaos.

It should have been a Bloodthirster, the greatest manifestations of the god of blood and warfare. A cruel creature of wanton murder and destruction.

And yet…

There was something strangely heroic about it, the easy way it carried itself, the lack of malevolence in the way it stood with an ease almost as easy as the smile it should not be able to give. A larger than life quality to its existence that did not come from any psychic impression but just from its behavior.

"What are you?" I finally asked the question through clenched teeth.

"A better question for me to ask!" It snorted smoke while its smile spread, it was the smile of an old foe. "I am a child of the Black and Bronze! So I mean no offense, from one malformed child to another."

It's silver eyed traced the lesser creatures around it with… dismissal? disdain?

What did that even mean?

It regarded me and smiled the smile of a thousand rivals.

"I am the Champion of the First Arena, the Prime Duelist, the Honor in Bloodshed and the praise of crowds for their victor," It announced in pride before barking and howling in a laughter. "Pretty titles are they not? Titles are important but the name I like best is Horatios. Eh, please do not tell it to anyone that could banish me, it is inconvenient."

It was difficult to comprehend the entity which I was speaking with, it was too… open.

Daemons prized their true names and feared revealing them more than any other fate, to reveal one so easily. I doubted that such a human name could be his however.

"You are a quiet one!" It shook its crowned head… the more closely I looked at it, the more it resembled the grey and black simulacrum of a Cassis Crista. The helmets worn by the gladiators of ancient Rome. "Did I do you offense? Apologies then! Now come and let us have our duel!"

"It is a talkative/chatty/irritating entity," Merlin observed as it swirled around me.

"Don't fight it," Morygen hissed beside me. "We can run."

She was not wrong.

We were close enough to the gates, more than close enough to back away farther than the great entity could pursue and behind the safety of the Authority.

But I knew that if we did, we would never return.

And then…

"And the world will die around us later," I muttered back while not breaking my eyes away from the Daemon before us. "You should all retreat. Farther back."

I spoke to them all but my words were meant for Morygen, I would not accept her dying for what came next but I would also not accept her dying with the world.

It was a strange eventuality that I internalized as I began to move forward.

She would not die and I would not lose.

"You seek to duel with me then?" I asked as I advanced. I was grateful that I did not have a great capacity for fear, falling into a fetal position would have ruined the moment.

It raised a brow of horns and scales, "I would say that is obvious, eh?"

Before I spoke it snapped its fingers in realization.

"Ah yes!" It nodded. "The terms."

Once more, I found myself resisting the urge to blink in surprise.

"Terms?" I asked.

It dipped its great head, "There is not much purpose to a duel otherwise, don't you agree?"

"And what are your terms?" I asked in surprise.

"Your head of course," the Champion shrugged. "Your skull technically. Theirs as well of course."

It pointed its sword towards the raid.

I felt my lips pull back into a growl of anger at the implications that it was drawing.

"Those are my terms," the Daemon explained. "And if you win then… I will ensure that the other echoes will not stand in your way, I am the strongest to manifest in this ruin. Are those terms acceptable?"

The creatures were whooping around us like a crowd as we begin to circle each other.

"Those are generous terms," I commented.

"I don't think so," the Champion shook its head. "I cannot die and you are wagering your lives, You are betting much more than I."

"You are right there," I acknowledged before licking my lips. "A question, before we start."

"Of course," It surprised me again, its voice was that of an honorable opponent granting a final courtesy.

I could have asked a great number of things and most would have been legitimate and insightful.

Instead, I asked something else.

"I had thought your kind to be taller," I asked in mild shock at the strange creature that I would fight for my very laugh.

"Yes," It nodded. "But _you_ are not. This world constrains me and but lets me fight your kind in truth, it makes us equal. I rather like it."

"You… like it?" I asked.

"And why should I not?" I asked as it lowered its great blade and the grey copper remakes the iron into an analogue for a gladius or a xiphos before resuming its old form. "The best duels are between equals. Here we can cut and break each other for our causes."

It was a maddeningly thing, it might have actually been reassuring to face a creature incapable of speech or conversation.

It made itself smaller, mirrored my weapon, manifested where it was weaker and offered terms of formal combat.

"Now," It continued as it lowered its blade. "I will cede the initiative, strike when you wish to begin."

It's final word was interrupted when the steel of my sword rung against the dull iron of its sword and saving its flank from what was meant to be a crippling blow.

It roared like the whoops of a crowd as it forced me back with a parry and followed the strike with a lunge that would have skewered me if I had no dived out of the way with anything but dignity.

I moved out of my roll and found myself barely able to deflect a blade that came against my roll.

Even diminished, it's raw might was enough to push me back and wrack my arms with the strength of the blows. I had expected the strength but neither the skill nor speed which matched with the gleeful ferocity of its lungs and slashes.

It won first blood when I misjudged a parry and it collected the momentum of its own strike into a sliding cut my right shoulder.

I managed to move away far enough to prevent it reaching the bone but I still bit a scream into a pained growl.

My blood gave its colorless form some of the bright red of my blood as it lifted its sword to the sun, admiring the trophy on its blade.

"You know," Its chuckles were the grown of steel against steel. "I always wonder why more of my kin do not come here."

I circled it while it spoke, letting my ruined shoulder heal from both my maker's gifts and Merlin's miniscule drones. I knew that it was letting me heal.

"It is easy to come here," It continued as if I had asked. "Easier to emerge from those doors made by the builders of this world. All for the price of weakness, pain and stink."

It tone were the shouted curses of a furious crowd at a coward.

"Yet they do not," it spit acid onto the ground before giving me another smile. "And when I bring them your skull, I wonder if they will see how pathetic they are, as if there is some honor in slaughtering lambs."

I snorted quietly under my breath as I lunged again and aimed for its off hand, I expected the hand to curl into a fist and to go for strike to my gut while its sword raised for a follow-up strike. I was grateful when it did just that and I was able to duck under the strike and swing my sword into its lower ribs, black ichor flowed from the wound but it moved away from the cut before it could penetrate deep enough to matter.

It kicked back into a retreat but the retreat was only a momentary feint as it lunged forward again in a manner more like a pouncing beast at its prey.

If I had been the man that I was before… it would have been over in a heartbeat and I would have died screaming and begging for mercy. But I was beginning to suspect that who I had been was not really relevant by that point.

Instead it continued.

The battle continued strike after strike as cut continued to meaninglessly accumulate and be sealed shut by gene-craft, ancient technology and daemonic power.

My body could not tire but my enemy was no less likely to tire.

I was smiling by the first hour's end at the exhilaration of the duel.

By the end of the third hour, I was laughing as it cleaved through the likeness of a stone angel under which I had hidden.

I heard the raid shouting, some of them drawn despite their fear into the shouts and curses of the daemons that ringed us, I had come to understand that my foe thrived off of an audience and its aura compelled others to join in the exaltation of battle and the survival which was at stake.

I was not sure that the battle was going anywhere as the sky above us faded from the blue of the day to the orange of downfall and to the dark of nightfall.

And with that, our battle began in earnest.


	24. Raid V

I was breathing hard by the time the sun set. I gasped for the air through smiling teeth as sweat raced down my back and my hearts began to strain. My body was covered in scabs and wounds at different degrees of healing. The process was beginning to strain under the rush of damage, literally hundreds of wounds that would have long outstripped a lesser work of gene-crafting's ability to heal so quickly.

It was a small comfort that my opponent had gained no small number of scars. I had no way of knowing to what degree the wounds mattered and if they were anything more than aesthetics for him.

"I will admit," I said through grit teeth. "You are good."

I was complimenting a Daemon… if that was not a sign of madness then I did not know what was.

He bowed with his free hand.

"I thank you for compliment!" It laughed. "And I must thank you, this has been the most fun I have had in millennia."

We hurled at each other again with matching roars, anathema and daemon hurling against each other in the dark of night.

With the sunset he grew more powerful, as if he were reinvigorated in the sun's absence. Yet the peculiar mix of desperation and joy that backed my strikes allowed me to keep my footing against the paradox of heroism and revulsion.

 _When did 'it' become 'he'?_ I asked myself in surprise.

It would end soon, I think that we both felt the tide of battle reaching toward its apex.

I ducked a decapitating stripe and sought to grab onto his chain collar to secure leverage but that effort almost cost me and arm as the Champion retracted its blade and brought it down with an aim of cleaving it.

I felt my hearts in my ears as I turned a following blow and attempted to capitalize on the opening by cutting into its calf after feigning away from a bone-knuckled strike aimed for my head.

It cost me a cut into my back but it earned me another chunk of ripped muscle from his outstretched leg.

It continued back and forth with a whirl of matched blows as the moon of the world rose above us.

The people of the world called her 'The Scarred Lady' after the long cuts and swathes the decorated the irregularly shaped moon. It was said that Voidspawn held court on the dead cities that made up the scars, descending with the night from their high seat to haunt the bones of the Fallen Ones.

A myth of course, but there something appropriate about her holding court over our duel.

"They defiled/destroyed/savaged our bodies," Merlin hummed with anger that did not befit a machine as the moon above shined. "Broke our cities, slaughtered our people, destroyed our makers."

Merlin had become more and more outspoken as the battle had grinded on, whispering warnings and repairing my body as best as it was able. I appreciated the effort even if its warnings were often delivered as I was already moving to evade or parry the blow.

Anger had poured thicker into its four voices as the night progressed and it occurred to me that it might have been cut off from facilities on the Lady, there was the anger of a long-held hope crushed in its voice as it saw the fragmented moon.

The nanites whirled into my still-closing cuts and began to move against the Champion with arcs like blades as we fought.

The Champion adjusted to the rise in opponents with admirable adjustment, moving away from the phantom blades and taking what cuts it could afford onto its body and redoubling the fury of its sword.

The toll on my body was doubled by his unwillingness to cut where he had already cut, a show of a warrior's pride in his unwillingness to strike at an open weakness where he could cut new flesh.

One of my hands was momentarily ruined by butt of the blade breaking the bones at the knuckles and turning some fingers into a pulp. The sort of pain that would have once made me turn and run for shelter.

As she reached her apex, so did our battle. At that highest moment we both roared as our blades crashed with shattering force. For a moment I thought my sword would shatter under the giants strength with the crack and bite of sundered metal.

I did hear a scream. But it was the scream of the Champion's sword fracturing as the keening noise of my blade roared loud enough to strain my hearing while the mortals screamed as they reached to protect their ears.

It had not expected that. For all its skills, it had not expected for its blade to be shattered by the screaming bite of the sword.

It took me a moment to realized that the nanites had wrapped themselves around the blade as it had rushed to meet its foe and reinforced the blade by some arcane feat that escaped my grasp.

I roared in triumph as I moved into a blur of motion, my sword cleaved through the hands of the heroic monster. It roared as the knuckles parted as black ichor and dined came free as my nameless sword broke through the bracer and opened its entire arm.

I would have spared it the same opportunity as it did me. But Morygen was amongst the Seekers. My Morygen. And she mattered more than pride.

I ducked under the arm before he could collect himself enough to even speak. I drove my sword through the scar where a heart would have been.

The pale, esoteric sword broke through the back of the creature and pulled free with an almost thoughtless ease. It was as if it did not realize for how long we had fought, how much abuse had been produced upon it.

The creature collapsed to its knees as I stepped back and looked down at it.

It was coughing as black blood poured from its mouth.

"Have to admit," It coughed before smiling. "That was better than expected. What do you call that sword?"

I heaved breaths as I heard the resignation in its crowd-voice, "Should you not be cursing me?"

It spit up blood that it did not have, "A Champion should know the weapon that defeated it."

The ruined gap of its breast was becoming white in the same milky light as my sword. Cobwebs were spreading from it like lines in glass.

"I have not given it a name," I admitted with a peculiar guilt. It was not any sort of sentiment about not having a name to give the Daemon. The sword has saved my life countless times in that single duel, that alone earned it a name.

"I am Merlin," The blade growled audibly in the voices of four. "Call me the Promised Victory in this form, call me Calyburne."

The Daemon looked at the weapon which likely had no soul to him.

It looked and then it laughed like a pleased audience.

"So I am defeated by two soul-dead things, fair enough." It spoke without bitterness but overtones of pain as its left arm collapsed into white nothingness as the cobwebs finished their work.

"And our terms?" I asked as I collected myself and regarded the other Daemons which circled us.

"Ah," He recalled as one grey eye turned to dust. "Yes, you can go."

I was about to ask how he would guarantee that but the other creatures interrupted me with their screams as the cobwebs that had begun to eat at it spread across them as well.

"They need my strength for their numbers," the champion lectured. "Seems only fair they die with me, eh?"

The last of them shattered in an explosion of white before the Champion became lopsided by the loss of another leg.

"Now," He turned his crumbling snout to bare his throat. "Do it and do it quickly. This is not a good way to be banished."

Despite myself, I snorted at the creature's nonchalance.

"You want me to take your head?" I asked.

He struggled to stay upright as its ruined fingers crumbled one by one, "Yes. That is about the right out it."

I was moving towards it with my new Calyburne raised, it galled what honor I did possess to let a foe have such an undignified end when it had fought with honor.

"I understand," I said as I stood within hand-reach of it. Wondering if it would lunge in a final effort to end me. "Do you have any final words?"

He laughed, "Try to be stronger next time, I want to fight you when we are both at our strongest."

"I would like that," I surprised myself by saying.

With a fast, clean strike its head took to the air.

I saw a smile on that monstrous head as both halves of it scattered to dust before either could strike the ground.

With the final moment of the battle over, I collapsed to my knees and stayed upright only by using my Calyburne to keep myself upright.

I took breath after breath as I eased myself into sitting on the shattered battlefield that had only a day before been a courtyard.

The entire battle raced in my mind as I attempted to collect my thoughts between the relief and surprise.

I had done it.

 _I_ had slain a Bloodthirster.

It had been weakened, I had lacked armor, the Authority and a dozen other variables or not.

I had slain a Bloodthirster.

There was reaffirmation in that thought, the realization that I had managed to engage with one of the most powerful entities that one could face in the hell that was this universe and win.

It meant something.

I did not know _what_ it meant, but it meant _something_. Something that made my hearts beat with elation and triumph.

"I did it," I said with a still disbelieving and unfocused smile. "I did it."

" _We_ did it," the sword hummed with some indignation. "I would say that out alliance has proven it's worth/bond/validity."

"Yes," I nodded.

My euthoria and surprise were overwhelming enough that I almost missed the eighty footsteps which had begun to hesitantly move.

Many moved to collect and see to the third of our number which lay across the field of battle in states ranging from mutilated ruin to relatively undamaged state.

But a familiar heart and step set itself apart as my wife sprinted towards me with such a desperate haste that the battered servos in her now nearly worthless armor whined and sparked in effort.

Tears of relief were running in small torrents from her green eyes, her red hair was lined with blood as it swayed behind her. Blood ran from a wide cut in her chin and one eye could not open completely. Her nose ran and a tooth had been chipped at some point by a blow that swelled her cheek.

Yet she wrapped her arms around me with a smile.

I think that it was in that moment the I realized something.

My Morygen was beautiful.

I was surrounded before I could collect myself again, the surviving leaders ringed me with the elder Morygen at their head.

The woman eyed me with her cool blue eyes for a moment before falling to a single knee.

I did not have time to be surprised as the other leaders fell to a knee and behind them the others, beyond them those that still minded to their fallen comrades.

It had not been an arranged gesture, there was a minute hesitation with each following thud of a knee against the ground and a weapon held downwards in the manner of a knight of ancient Europe.

Hesitation, but no doubt, no question.

"If you would," the elder Oathmaster spoke. "I would ask you to accept my Oath."

"And my own," An added.

"And mine," another veteran said while dozens of others added their voices to the chorus.

My mouth went dry at their words.

It was a pledge of fealty among the Seekers.

The promise to be broken only by death or the surrender of the master.

My Morygen let go of me and fell to a knee herself.

"And mine as well," She said with a bow of her head.

I accepted their oaths.

I accepted each of them, taking their names to memory and helping them to their feet with ritual practice.

It took hours but it was important to me, that each of them understood that I was accepting and welcoming them to my service.

The sun was rising by the time they all stood.

It seems sentimental in retrospect that such a moment became etched into the history of a legion. Historically inaccurate as well.

To think, of the half-dozen cogmen's we would be called by.

It was the 'Dawn Knights' that stuck.


	25. Raid VI

We passed the remaining two days without incident.

I killed perhaps twenty more daemons if one rounded up the sum, it sounded better than nineteen.

Our raid continued after the bodies had been burned and their affects added to the supplies in the hopes that they might be returned to their kin.

But we continued.

We marched through valleys that had once been aqueducts, through mountains made of ruined bridges fallen down shafts that skewered the layers of the planet.

We leapt through partially collapsed tunnels and climbed up stairs missing a number of their steps.

Powered weapons cleaved through broken gates and ancient vaults as we followed our spectral sage further and further.

And all the while, I pretended that their eyes were not locked on me.

 _Oathmaster._

That was the name of the title that the elder Morygen had surrendered to me. The title awarded to those who commanded the oaths of over ten parties of a guild, answerable to the national Sect-Master once confirmed.

I did not question it, questions could wait until we stabilized the generators.

It could wait until the ruins were repaired and purged of the offspring of chaos.

We made camp at the foot of a titan.

A giant whose flesh was marble except where time and accident had broken off chunks of its veiny, white flesh with debris to reveal the steel below.

The giant held court in what had once been a port of some kind, a mushroom-shaped ring emerging from the trunk of a shattered hive. Ruins heaps of rusted metals that had once been ships and aircraft circled the giant likes broken pilgrims, dead before their idol.

Beyond I could see the ruined cityscape that grew like underbrush between hive spires.

I could not determine whether it was reassuring or sad that I saw so much green where the wilds and forests bit into the ruins cities and submerged it into the greats forests.

The moss and aged metal matched well to give the ruins their name.

"City-Like-Woods," I commented from where I stood watch at the edge of the camp while the bulk of the others slept in their armor and next to their weapons. "How much of this is Sector Two?"

Calyburne whined in my hand as Merlin's voice spoke.

"All of it," the construct filled in as some of the nanites flew from the hilt and formed a small cluster that stretched out into the framework of a map. The map was of an unfamiliar shape that I quickly realized was meant to be a continent. "This landmass hosts Sectors 2, 4, 5 and 9."

The saw-toothed, shattered teardrop shape of the continent was divided into a grid which split into four zones and dismissed three in favor of a quarter which was close to the western coast of the mid-continent.

"The surrounding three hive clusters are collectively referred to as Sector 2," Merlin commented as the three voices gave way to that of the old man. "Minister Opal oversaw this place once."

"Is that so," I asked before a morbid thought slipped into my mind. "How many dwelled here once?"

"Four billion in the primary clusters," Merlin commented with a cool anger. "Most expired/starved/died after they escaped from the outbreak."

"And from the actual outbreak?" I asked as I passed a hand over the scars that now lined my chest. My mail and leather jacket had been reduced to useless tatters, so I discarded it, Merlin could only do so much and I had been unwilling to waste the material.

"One billion, seventy-three million, seven hundred and forty-one thousand and eight hundred and twenty were slain on first day," It managed to be distant despite being artificial. "It matched report across eight of the other sectors. One Billion, nine hundred seventy-seven million, three hundred twenty-six thousand and seven hundred and forty-three on the second."

"That is painfully predictable," I spit as I leaned against the broken hand of marble that I had used as a makeshift seat.

"The symbolism does not escape me," It hissed. "Other Sectors and facilities reported similar instances reflecting different numbers, the manifestations slaughtered most of our people."

It occurred to me that somewhere in the distance was that silo next to the library, the towers of skulls and misery.

"You sound almost protective," I said as I looked over the cityscape that probably contained hundreds of similar overgrown mass-grave.

"Then we communicate it poorly," Merlin said with irritation. "We _are_ protective. We were born to serve and if need be, we were to protect. The sight you take in is our failure/sin/pain."

"I meant no offense," I sighed.

"If that is what you choose to communicate." It laughed. "It is no offense me, it is necessary that you understand. We _will_ see the enemy banished from our home and we _will_ see it chained away in its domain, forced to watch as our ships move through their realm without fear."

"That is rather poetic for a machine," I observed.

"And that is rather perceptive for a biological one," It shot back.

Instead of insult, I snorted.

I was talking with a machine and it was the friendly chatter of allies bound in battle.

We lapsed into silence for another while as the sun above continued its path. I had insisted on that when we made camp the morning after my duel. If the enemy was stronger in the night then it was best to be ready to face them well-rested.

So, we slept during the day and fought and traveled during the nights.

Yet it was Merlin that spoke again.

"There are tools here," It commented. "Potential to be reclaimed once the distortions are erased."

"I know," It was an obvious truth.

Which was why I knew that it was not its point. Merlin was talkative but it was not in his nature to speak without need in my estimation.

"So take them," It continued. "Salvage/gather/strip that which is of value but do not return the people to these places."

That was a surprising sentiment, "Not terribly efficient or logical of you."

The sword made a synthesized snorting sound.

"Two of me were born to fight and understand that which is the Void," It defended itself. "If we were truly that sort of hidebound ancient then most of our intelligences would have joined the Men of Iron and the survivors would have fallen to the false-reason of the Void's whispers."

"So no, Galtine. We are not logical like an old machine would be, it was not woven into our design or our growth/solitude/communion," I could hear a shrug in that voice.

"Fair enough," I sighed as I looked at the sun while waiting for it to set.

I passed the time by looking over my scars and replaying the perfect recollections of the nanites helping my body heal them when the injuries had been temporarily overwhelmed by the Champion. It had asked Merlin to explain to me exactly what they were doing, finding that my past life's fondness for biology once more reared its head as I readily consumed the medical insight.

I had no tools suitable for furthering my studies but my mind did not struggle with creating mental simulations of how to understand and operate the body within me.

I could see no way to improve it, but I was beginning to understand the hows and whys almost instinctually.

Every time I found myself at an impasse, I merely asked Merlin for its opinion to confirm my theories and I advanced in the given strategy.

I was interrupted by the change of pace as the sun set and the parties began to wake.

Morygen approached me by climbing the marble throne and greeting me with a kiss.

The others did not tarry long before preparing to depart again.

It was felt anticlimactic to descend further into the core of the hive.

I felt like there should have been some sort of event, a battle against a foe of staggering might before we reached our objective.

The Champion had been that foe, yet I had fought him within the first sixth of the journey.

So I walked with the quiet tension of expectation, awaiting the expected foe.

But we reached the first generator at the core of the hive without incident.

A gate groaned as we hacked the bulwark open and made our way inside.

The chamber was bleached white by the light of the generator, it was the same white of the Moraltach, the same white of the light that cobwebbed over slain daemons.

The white of the power which drained everything of light.

The generator was no different.

It was a pylon.

A pylon or perhaps a torch as it hummed with white light.

It was not inviolate however.

It trembled and its bleached metals hid the disconnections and fragility of machinery pushed farther than they could tolerate.

The others mumbled in surprise at the Pariah-Construct which keened with power even as its frame groaned with power.

"The Authority?" I asked.

"Yes," Merlin affirmed as the nanites came forward and I felt a tug on my sword belt. "Come, you will be needed."

I raised a brow but followed it inside while the others fortified themselves at the gate, a precaution to prevent us from being disturbed by the voidspawn. I agreed with the sentiment.

Daemons were uncannily gifted with poor timing after all.

I approached the consoles at the base of the great structure, realizing that it was at least five times my own height.

The nanites hummed their way out of my pommel and into the ancient controls with their deteriorated pieces.

"Initial assessments are promising," the AI summarized. "The construct's core is heavily decayed but the frame and systems are within acceptable parameters to repair."

"Given the alternative," I mused.

I would accept the need for mild repairs over a daemonic invasion or a planetary collapse.

The nanites soured over the machine with a quiet focus as the somehow ate away at rust and synthesized a minute paste which sealed tears and hardened into a quickly sanded metal.

Old wires were stripped, metals restricted and then covered again like a burial shroud before they were plunged beneath covers again.

And the sound of protesting machinery soothed and came to a comfortable growl.

"The framework is sufficiently repaired," the machine noted before speaking again. "Now we merely require your sacrifice/blood/wound."

"Wait," I blinked. "I am not sure that I understand."

"The core requires the blood of a disruptor," the construct informed me. "Its amplification is needed for operation."

I regarded my blade with wariness again, as if it were at a risk of turning into a beast which would bite at me if I was not careful.

"How much blood?" I asked carefully.

"Two or three drops," the machine added anticlimactically. "That should be sufficient per generator."

"These creations are powered by the blood of pariahs then?" I asked.

"Yes," It acknowledged and directed my hand towards a handprint on the terminal that was better suited for a mortal.

"You are not going to ask me?" I queried.

"Asking is not wholly needed," the gestalt grumbled. "You will do it."

I snorted my response as I drew my dagger and aimed it downward, waiting patiently for the chance to strike at my palm, words waiting for its signal.

It had been almost too easy.

But it had been just that easy.

So had the second generator.

And the third.

Fourth.

Fifth,

Sixth,

Until the final one of the systems had come to full operation.

By the end of it, I had cut my palm open countless times and I _knew_ that I probably looked worse than I felt.

"And it is done," I noted at the very end of it.

"Almost," Merlin noted as it returned into my sword.

"Almost?" I asked.

"Purification will be risky/dangerous/fatal for baseline humans, you would be wiser to move away from the city before I return the fields to full strength," It warned.

The others were already moving at those words and I had no desire to contest it.

After all, it was hard to argue with not being vaporized.


	26. Settled I

"I don't think that it looks _that_ bad," Morygen commented as she looked up from roll of paper. Her expression was pained as she tried to smile at me.

I raised a brow at her before looking back at the structure.

It had seemed like a reasonable plan.

I was too big for our home _before_ we started hauling in the salvage, it would have been an impossibility to live there now.

So we built a new house.

And I had designed it.

And… it was a square.

Not even a perfect square, the sides were uneven in what I had _though_ t would be an interesting aesthetic. Now it seemed like and a box made out of wet cardboard.

Ymer patted my hip while giving a reassuring smile.

"It is horrid," Merlin commented within his hilt.

"I will admit It," I sighed. "I am not the most imaginative being with regards to architecture."

I was fairly sure that if records of the abomination before us ever reached the Imperium Dorn and Perturabo would bond. Bond over their proposal for the Council of Never Letting Galtine Design Any Sort of Structure but at least they would bond.

We had built it atop a high hill near to the village with the aid of the others, paid with the coin that the raiders had sent back after our first haul had been sold off. Honestly, I had enough left over that I had been sent a bank note in place of the bulk of it.

I had found that the small hill gave a commanding view of the ruins beyond the forests and it had seemed like as good a way to pass the time as any while I monitored the purified city.

The villagers did not call it City-Like-Woods anymore.

Now they just called it 'the White Forest'.

I looked away from my monstrosity and regarded the distant sight.

It was certainly an apt name.

Something in my blood had nearly overloaded the Authority when Merlin brought them to full capacity. I still remember the blinding light that consumed the horizon like a sun of pure white while the intelligence scrambled to redirect the excess energy into a pillar of vertical light which cut the clouds from the sky with a roar of power.

It _had_ been sufficient to purge the city and destroy the rifts created by the Outbreak within the Sector.

It had also bleached all color from the ruins. Metal, rubber, wood and bone were rendered the same haunting and almost iridescent shade that had filled the chambers of the generators.

Merlin had a number of running theories for why it had happened. Some property of my blood altering the generators, the previously unknown activation of so many generators to full capacity, the banishing of such a large manifestation. It could be any of those possibilities, it could be none of them and it could be all of them. The construct was unwilling to commit any of them until it collected more data to be certain.

Data to be collected as the other sectors were purged of corruption.

We had time at least now that the most fragile generators were repaired.

Sector four was next and it fortunately had a decade left before it went critical. I say fortunately because it was well beyond the territorial borders of the Silver Guild.

Seekers could travel where they pleased, but a raid-strength party could not be allowed to travel beyond their guild-borders.

It would take a great deal of haranguing to arrange a meeting with representatives from the Ruby, much less to persuade the actual rulers of the kingdoms we would need to traverse.

Even that was an overstep a few steps ahead of us.

I had gone from unregistered apprentice to Oathmaster in the space of a single raid expedition.

That was simply not done. There were a hundred traditions and protocols that forbade that sort of advancement.

One was supposed to take a few years after their acceptance into a guild.

One was supposed to build up a considerable store of experience traveling across the states of the continent.

One was supposed to earn favors from party to party. To build up trust through trading coins and maintaining bargains until loyalty was sworn to them.

One was supposed to campaign during High Tides until oaths were enough to lead their men to a capital and present themselves to the Sept-Master and to claim a place among the council of Oathmasters.

And I had done it all in one single action.

The former Oathmaster led the other parties to the capital to begin the process of transition.

I would only be allowed to negotiate once I commanded that rank and the elder Morygen had denied my attempts to have her retain the rank in the name of practicality.

But she had refused me.

" _I will not dishonor all of us by putting up such a false pretense," She had shaken her head. "It is tolerable to make compromises for politics but it is intolerable to claim to be what I no longer am."_

I could not fault her for that. They took the first wagons of salvage we had dragged out and I kept dozens of Seeker Coins as a matter of debt which I felt little need for.

It would have been pushing an already tense awkward situation into prideful idiocy to go with them, it would have been equivalent to demanding the rank without the slightest respect for ritual.

Not how I wanted to start my tenure.

So I waited in my little village and received messengers with their missives.

I could also admit that I wanted to catch my breath.

I went back to Lord Antur and delivered a sum of salvage as a gift and collected our Ymer.

We returned home and set about to monitoring the ruins and reclaiming the salvage of the purified ruins.

Initially, only the boldest villagers joined us after weeks of us hauling tech en masse out of the ruins. But their success led more and more of them to venture in and emerge with materials and treasures.

So yes, I passed the time by salvaging and building a house.

Well, that and enjoying my new hobby.

…

"Of all of the things to drag back," Morygen shook her head as I recalibrated the machines that I was setting up in one of the chambers below the façade of our new home.

"It is a wise investment," Merlin noted. "Although I would have added a primer on architectural aesthetics as well."

"Noted," I snorted as I backed away from the setup to observe it.

Merlin had led me from recorded clinic and laboratory to medical bays.

I found that I had a penchant for the medical.

The loss of the Nua-Stone had saddened me at first but my construct had apologized with the assessment and by assuming the position as my tutor.

Morygen sat on the massive examination table that Wayfred the smith had helped me build to my scale.

She tapped the metal frame with idle interest while Ymer eyed the cryogenetic tank with interest.

"You really do have the aptitude to be a healer," My wife commented as she eased herself off of the elevated table and came to rest against my back as I looked over my lab. "Maybe that was your purpose?"

"A healer that can repel the Voidspawn?" I asked with hearty amusement. "I could not fathom why my creator would choose to create such a thing?"

It seemed like an irrational idea to me. Making a Primarch a blank seemed like a distinctly aggressive model to me, why on terra would such a trait be crossed with something so ill-suited to direct combat as a medic.

I put the thought aside as I moved to the upscaled deck that I had commissioned from Wayfred and activated the computer set that I had taken from a broken library and Merlin had reprogrammed.

It was no internet but it _was_ a platform to download and read the masses of data that I required to start on my main work. The knowledge came easily to me, moreso than I anything else which I had read or done before.

It was difficult to explain what it was like, when pressed I could only think to say that it was like knowing the first step before I ever learned it.

However, it might not have been my aptitude because there was something else to it as well that there had never truly been before.

My eyes flicked to Morygen at my side while I connected the latest piece of equipment to the central interface.

Urgency was quite the thing.

Age-Retardants, a basic pharmaceutical from before the fall that had become a prized Treasure among the Seekers.

The first step towards my hopes of preserving my family.

"Are you almost ready to make it?" Morygen asked awkwardly.

"Close," I sighed. She thought that I was being too worried and too concerned with a distant future.

She chuckled as she pushed aside her own hesitation and instead focused towards her newest interest.

"The alderman was by earlier," She commented with some eagerness.

I nodded as I typed, "I heard him."

More accurately, I had heard the fluttering tones of his withered heartbeat. I liked the man well-enough so I had extended invitations on more than one occasion to treat his injuries.

"Seven villages are salvaging now," she said with a reverberating thrill in her heart. "And those just share the western border of the ruins!"

She could not care less about who actually received the Treasures, she was just thrilled at seeing the people going into the ruins without fear and beginning to reclaim the treasures within.

Merlin insisted that there was no need to worry about the possibilities of further outbreaks, my blood was actually a rather effective reagent from its observations months after the initial cull. The Authority worked much more efficiently than it had expected so they could be maintained at a high level of output to the degree where it was more difficult to manifest within the ruins than beyond them now by its estimates.

"One step at a time," I said under my breath before giving her a confident armor. "We might well live to see every Sector repaired."

She chuckled and ducked into kiss me again.

She had been efficient in our time after the raid expedition and I found that life and love was not so impossible with my body as I had expected.

"You should not distract me," I shook my head, unable to banish the smile. "Not when I imagine that you have more gloating to do."

"Oh, I can do both," she chuckled while beyond her Ymer rolled her eyes.

I shook my head but I liked the back and forth which my dear wife favored.

We passed the days and weeks like that, we both helped around the village and pulled more and more salvage from the city.

We would work on giving our home a more pleasing shape.

Morygen would continue pushing towards greater coordination between villages, slowly dominating the aldermen through force of will. I merely waited next to the door, adding the weight of my presence when necessary.

I continued my studies into both healing and experimentation under Merlin's guidance while chatting with my wife.

Ymer took to learning her bladework under her sister in the evenings while I prepared our meals.

So yes, I waited in my home with my family to be called to the capital.

The necessary first step towards my next raid into another of the ruins.

I did receive a message by the end of the year however. Although it had come in an unexpected fashion and the call was not from Morygen's elder namesake.

A year after my first expedition into the ruins they returned.

Ector, Trystane and Iseult returned to the village as the High Tide _should_ have come to the White Forest.

I was left to explain how I had lost the Nua-Stone which I had been loaned.


	27. Settled II

"You seem to have done well for yourself," Ector mused as he took a seat across from us in the admittedly sparse den of our new home.

"Yes," Morygen said as she leaned closer to me. "We've been pretty happy I'd say."

"And congratulations are in order," the elder smiled weakly.

"It's nothing," My wife scratched her cheek. "Just needed to do a suicidal thing or two."

Trystane snorted as he leaned over his bench, "Well then I'll be sure to do that more."

I raised a brow at the young man in quiet amusement. He was exactly the sort to be reckless.

There was more curiosity in my brow than I had expected.

All three of them looked more ragged than I had last seen them.

Iseult had a bit of a catch in her walk that I recognized as an ill-healed injury. Trystane's hair was a touch more ragged than the last time and his smile was just a bit thinner to match the more minute mirth in his eyes.

But both seemed better off than Ector.

The bear-like man had lost weight and not all of it had been in fat. He looked smaller with his stony features lined by stress, cracks in his lips from stress and bags under his eyes.

My enhanced senses only made the picture grimmer, the scent of fatigue and depression hung over the three like a shroud of misery. There hearts were not completely apace from where they should have been and they even had the slight discoloration from malnutrition and disease.

The past twenty-four months had not been kind to them.

Only their dress and gear looked in a fit state and even that bore the signs of recent cleaning and maintenance after a period of disrepair.

We were expecting them to ask for help, they had every sign of being in need of aid and neither of us were about to turn them away.

Morygen pushed a note across the table towards the old Seeker.

"We lost the Nua-Stone," She said apologetically. "But we've been lucky with our salvaging after the Raid…"

His sigh had a touch of a wheeze to it as he shook his head.

"There is no need for that," He put on a weak smile. "We don't have the profit from your share of the last Treasure, I've no right to ask it nor ask for repayment."

"Yet you will," I said plainly while Ymer ran back with a tray of the somewhat flavorless tea that we kept around.

Trystane gave me a wry smile, "I would like to point out that we are aware of how we _look_ but we are quite well."

"Really," Iseult shook her head. "It is ridiculous to try posturing, yes we need the finances and we are grateful for it."

She picked up the note but her expression was pained for all of her talk.

 _I'd wager that she does not like it anymore than the other two_ , I thought. I had spoken the least to Iseult before but it was not hard to read that she was a pragmatic woman if a touch over-eager.

Ector lowered his head at her action but made no move to stop her.

Trystane gave her an annoyed look with sea blue eyes but did not bring himself to protest.

"You plan to tell us what happened?" Morygen asked as she leaned beside me.

"It has not been the best year," Ector half-explained. "I wanted to see if the stories were real, to see if there was truth to it."

"Where did the stories reach you?" I asked. I had expected the stories to spread like wild fire by the other raiders and the villagers beyond but I had not figured out how far the stories had spread.

It would be useful to see how much I would need push to get future raids approved.

"Must have been near Afallache," the elder shrugged. "It was High Tide in Wells-Like-Orchards. Some Seekers mentioned it when we passed them at one of the mustering points."

I had spent regrettably little time learning the national composition of my world but the name of the noble-republic in the far Northeast was one of those that I had learned. Even the greatest of minds is useless without input in the first place.

 _Something to rectify_ , I sighed minutely.

Still… Afallache was far, it was very far.

"I hope that seeing the purified city was a reassuring sight," I offered. "It was a difficult venture and we lost no small number of our number in the effort, but it was done."

Trystane chuckled bitterly, "Armies have died doing what you did, I would say 'difficult' is an understatement. 'Difficult' is what happened when we were with you, that," he pointed at the city in the distance of the window. "That is impossible."

"Not at all," Four voices corrected from one of the two swords that rested on the mantle over our fireplace. "It was merely high unlikely/improbably/suicidal."

Trystane gave it a shocked look before recovering quickly and laughing with a stupefied sort of mirth.

"Speaking of the impossible," he laughed.

"Clarification, far from impossible," The larger sword corrected. "It is exceedingly possible. I am Merlin and I am Calyburne, it is a pleasure to meet you."

It was not lying, Merlin had had me visit his core a number of times since the raid.

Each time the nanites ate away at a bit more of the machinery, altering it and shrinking it.

Calyburne was more than a form of communication and manipulation for the AI, it was rapidly evolving into an extension of itself. It was apparently in preparation for when we would have to proceed beyond its operational range, a way for it to be able to be able to fulfill its role without putting a mountain of hardware on proverbial wheels.

There were worse things than a sword that could defend itself from thieves I supposed.

Or as Trystane succinctly put it.

"So, you have a talking sword?" The young man asked with a bemused smile.

"Yes/Correct/Affirmative," the sword commented. "Mockery, water is also wet."

In fairness, I had never requested a weapon with a good sense of humor.

Unfortunately, that did nothing to answer my main concern and explaining where Merlin had come from was not exactly conductive to what I had intended to get at.

"I met Calyburne in the ruins," I explained. "He was instrumental in everything that we accomplished."

"Gratitude," The sword would have bowed if it had a body to bow with.

I noticed something pass across all three of their eyes.

"I do not mean to press you," I insisted. "But you would you tell us what happened?"

Ector looked hesitant but Iseult shook her head and spoke.

"You did a good enough work on me," She said with a dip of her head. "But I was not as recovered as I would have liked, I was sloppy."

"Iseult," Trystane began before he was cut off by her glare.

"I'll admit it," her face was a model of indignation as she spoke. "I was too slow to support a Void-bane we had contracted and we barely made it out when he was cut in half by a servant of the Green Slug. We lost our other Nua-Stone in that expedition and were forced to fairly pay his guild for his death."

Ector shook his head with what I guessed was guilt for the demise of their guide or their loot, I was not sure which.

But the woman in her black robes and mane continued, "We started running short on coin and were forced after that to start using the coin that we had saved up to cover our meals and maintain our equipment."

"It had seemed easy enough to justify at the time," Trystane shrugged. "When your stomach is growling and things take a turn for the worse. We've done it before you know."

Iseult ignored him, "Our luck continued bad enough after but we were able to make enough to survive, this only took a turn for the desperate a few months ago."

"Got anything to do with your hands?" Morygen asked with a sober bluntness.

And she arrived at the most obvious thing about their changes.

None of them were wearing the red-marked gloves they had worn before.

"Yes," Ector admitted as he regarded my wife. "I am happy to see your success Morygen and your father would have been proud. The Children have been trying to do even a shadow of such a feat for centuries, no- _millennia_. There would have been costs and-"

"We've been expelled," Trystane sighed. "All the none Children Parties in the Ruby Guild have had their marks revoked."

That…

 _I had feared for that much_ , it was difficult to hold back a wince.

The relationship between guilds and states had always been tense and more than a little difficult.

States were made and destroyed by those that bought and unleashed the Treasures that were the most dangerous pieces of archaeotech.

They had, through millennia of tradition and disparate political maneuvers by hundreds of ambitious rulers, made the guilds politically impotent mercenaries that were unable to present a challenge.

Ruby had the misfortune of being under a particularly cutthroat and powerful republic which kept their boot firmly over the necks of the leadership. The republic expanded by overthrowing and replacing neighboring states in the name of one cause or another and replacing them with a 'better' and 'more just' ruler, giving away treasures when it suited them to better lives and unleashing weapons when that did not work.

A surge in prestige for the Children which had been a popular force in the republic… that was as good a reason as any to clamp down on and purge the problematic force in their tools.

And.. and also where the next Sector was.

 _They are just going to love letting me lead a large and armed force into their borders_ , I grumbled internally.

Trystane had barely finished his sentence when my mind reached the end of its progression.

Iseult nodded before continuing her story, "It is hard to sell our goods honorably when we have no license and other Seekers and honor-bound to deny us expeditions when we can avoid it."

"And we might as well renounce all that we are and all we have attempted to do if we sold our Treasures to thieves and criminals," Ector growled with the frustration of an old argument. "We were lowly enough to use promised goods, that is already dishonorable enough."

"After that, we were eventually forced to start selling our own Treasures to the Seekers that would accept them," Iseult continued.

Ector had been growing more and more unhealthy as the story continued until he seemed to have aged to a man resembling his biological age before he had regenerated his body with that treasure.

He gave me an agonized look but Morygen was speaking before he could press.

"Damn my coin then," She shook her head. "You helped father when he was a half-starved runaway and I won't deny you some basic repayment."

"You are kind girl," Ector sighed. "But that is not what I have come to ask you."

I raised a brow, "And what do you desire to ask? If it at all possible, I will be glad to aid you."

"Well Oathmaster," Trystane chuckled. "Yes, we heard about that. We were hoping that you could tell us, how did you do it?"

And so we arrived at that point.

"Do you intend to do it?" I asked.

"Yes," Ector nodded. "It is my hope that we can make our way to Walls-Like-Eternity and cleanse it like you have the White Forest."

That seemed like an ill-considered thought to me.

"And the Leanan will allow you back with that?" Morygen named the republic with some discomfort, it seemed that she shared my stance on the subject.

"The guild will act of we do it," Ector nodded with a touch of confidence without reason and gave a confident smile. "They will see reason."

I did not need to be a Primarch to recognize desperation.


	28. Settled III

I had always had a systematic approach to house layouts, every room had a purpose and every purpose a room.

My lab, two floors beneath the hilltop was for studying and perfecting my newly discovered craft.

A kitchen for cooking, a den for receiving guests, a pantry for preserving food and so on.

The highest roof of the house had a narrowed and flattened space that I had originally thought would give me a commanding view of the White Forest.

And I enjoyed the stars.

It was there I sat, surrounded by dozens of borrowed books that had been advanced on my list of topics by the day's events.

"Narrow again," I asked as Merlin adjusted the global projections of the world which we had dividing into rough, overlapping lines between the nominal states and cities with referential landmarks.

It was a mess of borders due to the innately fluid nature of largely premodern political borders.

States on my world were divided into two academically defined categories.

Summer Courts were the more reoccurring type in the continents history, states which arose from the use of Treasures but failed to maintain a strong authority for a prolonged period. Winter Courts were those which managed to transition into a period of prolonged stability for longer than at least five generations.

Unfortunately, lord Antur's personal library had distinctly untrustworthy records of the states and guilds of the other landmasses which Merlin's map illustrated. I had only passing names for five of the remaining eight continents on the large, terrestrial sphere (it certainly explained why the days were about six hours longer than those of humanities cradle).

The continent that I found myself on was most commonly known as Hiber'Cale, a vaguely tear-like landmass that I estimated was somewhere between the North American and African continents of my previous world.

The books I had read suggested between eighty to ninety polities on Hiber'Cale although I could not determine a fixed number for the simple reason of how easily Summer Courts came and went. Most of those ranged from large territories to small duchies and city-states.

The greatest powers were oriented around three of the four primary ruin clusters on the planet.

The White Forest was at the heart of the old Winter Court more commonly known as Gwyar. Founded a full nine centuries ago, it was the second eldest of the six Winter Courts on the continent by a hero who unleashed an entire household of Knight-Titans on a crusade to establish his kingdom and bring down the other Knight-houses of the plains. The tales were quite descriptive, especially the articles regarding their felling the twin knights of House Maida during the bloodiest of the battles. Most of it was propaganda but records confirmed that the royal family kept a single Knight Titan ready to fell invaders and rebels along with the surprisingly unambitious support of the three chief dukes of the kingdom.

To the far east was the Republic of Marhaus (or Afallache depending on the dynasty with the nomical leadership by archaic tradition) surrounded Wells-Like-Orchards and were more accurately described as an alliance of almost a hundred nearly autonomous noble territories ranging from earldoms to dukedoms. They reminded me of a considerably more capable Holy Roman Empire of Terra's medieval period with grav-tanks, aircraft and enough knowledge to build rudimentary firearms. They were the eldest of the Hiber'Cale Winter Courts but were held in check by a general unwillingness to expand and fear of their internal rivals.

That left me with the Republic.

The Republic of Leanan was a relatively new Winter Court by far the most problematic one. They were founded by a group of Seekers that had found some sort of primer for democracy and had cast away their old profession to begin agitating for rebellions in their old homelands. It sounded good for about a paragraph before it became obvious that they functioned like an Oligarchy trapped in a cross between the reign of terror and Napoleon's 'conquer and destabilize literally everyone' mode. The end result was perversion that made my teeth grind in outrage at the near-naked power claim that they were had sold to the people as a way out of 'undo' taxes and rights which they only received if one squinted so hard as to blind themselves.

I looked at the forming map and massaged my jaw with a hand, "Switch to guild display."

And the kingdoms switched to a display of the guilds.

There were three guilds on the continent of Hiber'Cale: silver, ruby and emerald which could be neatly divided in an almost triangular form across the continent.

Where the states were fluid and prone to change, the guilds where almost immutable in their claims according to tradition.

That was the thing.

Guilds did not fight and they certainly did not war. If I forced a fight then I would be the first in literal millennia of tradition to make myself one of the greatest villain ever seen among the Seekers if not the world as a whole.

Even the founders of Leanan had largely allowed the Ruby to stay out of their warmongering and stripped themselves of the status.

Even the Children merely wanted to give the guilds some say and push the kingdoms towards focused improvements. They did not want war and they certainly did not support usurping anyone.

Even if I purified the ruins, I was to be thanked but I was still a Seeker if even that because the system of honor that had held for millennia meant that I was not a threat.

That was not to say that there was not an opportunity.

This move against the Children was merely the latest echo of nearly a century of the guild leadership engaging in bizarre and brazen behavior which hinted at the Republic angling towards breaking the traditions that kept the continental (if not global) traditions apart.

I eyed the map as I digested the information.

"That's still kind of creepy you know," Morygen shook her head as she came up the stairs with a mug in each hand and Ymer trailing behind her.

"Outrage, I am not 'creepy,'" the AI said with indignity. "Please use suitable terms such 'awe-inspiring' or 'miraculous'."

"Even 'humble'," My wife snickered as she sat down on my lap while handing me a mug of tea and turning to look at the map.

My wife had something of a bickering dynamic with Merlin, agreeing on nothing aside from a fondness for Ymer that the AI tutored without being willing to admit to it.

She turned to look up at me, "Ector and the others are troubling you?"

"Yes," I sighed.

They had not taken my explanation well and I could see it past their pretensions of resolution, it did not take a Primarch to hear the hollowness in Trystane's jokes, Ector's dead eyes and Iseult's breath of resignation.

I could not lie to them however, lying would have given them a hope which might have seen them dead. I did not have it in me to do that to them for no reason other than saving myself some difficulty.

It had required the use of both the Artificial Intelligence that rested in my weapon and a great deal of luck besides, the latter Morygen worsened by giving a rather excessive description of my duel against the Champion. I did not correct her of course, let them think that the Champion had brought towers down with blows from his sword if it meant that it would dissuade them.

I had insisted that they stay the for a time and Morygen had punctuated it by pointing out that the did not have the strength in them to make it down the hill without falling over dead from their hunger.

"I do not know what we can do for them," I growled quietly. It was a quirk that was becoming more prevalent as of late, a deep grumbling sound of irritation that was my body's equivalent of a frustrated sigh. "The more I read, the harder it is to help them if they will not just join the Silver."

Ymr gave me a confused look from where she clutched next to the map, listening to Merlin's impromptu geography lesson.

My sweet wife's expression was utterly horrified however.

"I know," I said before she started her lecture. "It is not done."

"It would just make it a simpler matter," I shook my head.

Morygen snorted and leaned against my chest, forcing me to put down my book, "It's usually you that has to tell me this but it isn't that simple."

Changing religion in Sengoku Japan would have gone over with less controversy during the persecution of the Christians. One did not change guilds, exile from a single guild was no different from exile from every guild barring the things of legend.

"I do not want to leave them in such a sorry state," I sighed and shook my head. "Their health is in ruins at any rate."

"I'm not saying we should!" She protested before stopping and starring at me for a moment and allowing a bemused laugh. "I came up here planning to convince you to help them. Now you have me arguing for caution."

She scratched her cheek and I poked her forehead gently instead and smiled.

"Do not concern yourself with it," I reassured before turning back to the map. "I only have a single notion for how to proceed."

"I know," she shook her head. "We only have five years to get to the Republic."

" _Only_ five years?" I smiled at her confidence.

"You said that you want me to live forever, didn't you?" She teased back. "Then I'll say 'only'. That does not help us though."

"And I cannot do a thing until they confirm my rank," I muttered. "All the Treasures in the world does not change the simple fact that I have to allow the Oathmaster to do her part."

My wife's smile became thoughtful before letting out a breath as she looked at the map, "A year and she has had no luck."

"With no progress if her mood is any indicator," trust was a funny thing, I did not know the elder Morygen as well as I would like but her dozens of letters had made her reliability obvious.

Anger, the proper scents and marks of strain on the paper were not things which one could so easily fake nor were they things that one would think to fake.

She had been genuinely furious when she had written of yet another failed meeting with the Sept-Master, another Oathmaster unwilling to listen and the unanswered entreaties to the Guildmaster.

But I had been willing to be patient.

But…

"They purged the Children from one state," she read my mind. "Our kind are of diminished standing, it would be a good time to move against us especially if they can discredit you."

"That is reaching," I pointed out. "But it does not change that you are right. It would not be in their interest to acknowledge me."

Morygen stood up and circle the sphere in thought before she passed her hand over her seven-and-a-half-year-old sister and giving me a look.

"One of them killed my father," She frowned. "It might have been a Child and it might not have. Letting them delay you, letting the generators fail and kill our world. Letting our friends die as starved exiles. Any of that is letting them win."

Her volume grew louder as anger trembled on her expression as Ymer reached up to reassure with a hand over hers.

There was agreement in her features.

And on my own, actually.

She caught herself and shook her head and coughed and blushed.

"I'm sorry," she smiled awkwardly. "That was a selfish way to put it."

"Acknowledgement, it was," Merlin pipped up. "But it is also true that we cannot allow things to remain as they are."

They looked to me with expectation.

"Fair enough," I allowed as I unfolded my legs and stood up to my full height.

"Then we will have to force the issue."

Fortunately, I could see a great deal of 'force' in the horizon.


	29. Settled IV

"How do you feel?" I asked with baited breath.

The younger Seeker flexed renewed skin on his hands with amazement alive in his eyes as he sat on the surgical table.

His skin was suppler. The fat and muscle were rebalanced. What few lines had been on his face were gone save for the lines of laughter which were only diminished.

"Yes," he answered, although the inflection made it a question rather than an answer.

I busily jotted down the adjustments in his movements and physiology.

The marks of stress were reduced just as much as the trace signs of aging which his recent struggles had inflicted onto his face.

A word came to my mind, one which I admit was somewhat distasteful.

It was _fascinating_.

Trystane looked less his eleven years and more a youth of seven.

I had deliberately returned him to the middle stages of human maturation with the treatment.

He had known the risks, the nominal ones at least but I was not sure that he had fully grasped the benefits. It was one thing to see Treasures work on others and quite another to be directly subject to them.

He had joked about being reduced to a child before.

Those jibes were now firmly dead on his lips as he marveled at his transformed state.

"You might feel some discomfort," I commented while knowing that it was unlikely. It was a simple procedure now that I had implemented some working samples.

"This," he jumped from the bed and did not seem to mind that he was unclad as he went through katas and stances of our shared art with only a touch of a decline from the distortions in his biology, testing his new state. "This is amazing."

 _And I feel guilty for using you as a test subject_ , I apologized internally. He would not thank me for voicing that thought.

So I instead deflected the credit. "You can thank the Fallen for that."

Sort of.

Some men might interpret 'forcing the issue' as violence. I understood it by taking a much more aggressive stance in my medical pursuits.

After all, what better reason was there to go to the capital than to offer my unique talents as a Treasure to the king?

Finding what I was looking for had not taken very long, Merlin might not like being reduced to a gps device but it performed the role admirably.

I had traveled a few days with one of the newly formed scavenger caravans into the hives, I had no need to do that but I preferred to make friends when necessary.

We scaled up the towers and through the cityscapes, they found a fortunes worth of utilitarian Treasures, although I had insisted on claiming the bulk of the Treasure from one of the armories we came across.

I could have led them to more but I only needed one, they'd be rich from the suits of carapace they did claim at any rate.

My actual objective was found two days into the endeavor and I returned to my home not long after.

Trystane had unsurprisingly volunteered. I needed to test my ability to replicate the drugs which not only retarded but actively reversed aging to a certain degree.

He finished the movements and looked up to me with a now his now more-fittingly childish smile.

"This is fantastic," He smiled before giving a moment's thought and tapping his head. "Anything I need to worry about in here?"

I tilted my head while tapping my computer and looking over the scans I had taken before and after the treatment had started.

"Merlin?" I asked before speaking my findings. I did not need a confirmation but people liked to have a second opinion and it would show some gratitude to my partner to ask.

"Assessment, you will not understand an elaborate explanation, so I will be simplistic," the machine mused from its table. "Damage should have been minimized by increasing compartmentalization and resetting excess materials by eliminating the organic equivalent of unnecessary data."

Trystane eased into another stance while nodding with interest, "So my memory is preserved by removing things I did not remember in the first place?"

"Clarification, 'destroy' is more accurate than 'remove' but yes, we destroyed what you did not need," The AI acknowledged.

"Huh," the youth made younger moved without much care for the rearrangement of his mind.

Trystane was not a difficult man to understand, he had his honor and he had his loyalties. He liked to fight as well but only when that was in service of the first two.

"I will need you to report to me about your health regularly," I warned dryly. "There is a not-insubstantial risk that I might have made an error."

Not technically true but it would sound arrogant to say that I had no doubts about my success now that it was done.

I _had_ possessed some doubts initially about the whole matter but that had all changed once I was actually working over the man on the table.

The procedure had been painfully straightforward, the medication was in reality a cocktail of programmable cells and a sort of virus that selectively altered the composition of the host on every level. This was meant to interact with directions from complex medical equipment which had long-since failed but Merlin was able to direct the nanites of Calyburne to serve instead.

Coupled with my own surprising aptitude we had not only been successful but exceeded the expectations from what records of the technology Merlin recalled.

All of which might as well be lost on Trystane as he sparred against his shadow while attempting to adjust his movements.

"You worry too much," His smile pleased me greatly if I was being honest. I thought that he was more pleased by what the successful operation meant than even the betterments to his help.

"If you say so," I chuckled. "I will not then wave responsibility if you regress into a large-headed toddler ten."

Trystane shrugged at that and flashed me a toothy smile.

"If it gets me my brand back then I will go back to the womb," he waved me off. "I am already dressed for it even!"

…

I penned my letters with an irregular cheer.

My trials had continued well among the volunteers. I had not pushed as hard as I had with Trystane's alterations, regressing to a period of maturation was considerably more difficult than merely regressing regular aging.

I had treated almost a dozen individuals over the course of a month.

A twenty year of old farmer with no children had been made younger by a half-decade.

One half-starved beggar had been returned to her early adulthood while a sick mercenary was purged of a half-dozen diseases.

Which had brought me to treating the first man necessary for my project.

 _"This is remarkable," Lord Antur commented as he looked over his face in the hand mirror that I had lent him._

 _"Remarkable enough to garner your support?" I asked with some amusement._

 _The duke nodded while working his jaw._

 _Seven years were gone from his noble features and I could see surprise on his face._

He had not been particularly interested in the reversal but I had needed a patron of a high enough standards to suit my plan.

Hence I was able to happily inform Morygen the Elder about my scheme now that it was feasible to do so again.

Granted the trials had not been _perfect_ per se.

For one thing, my occasional bouts as a healer had evolved into a full-blown medical practice. I had eventually been forced to dig a door into the hillside to feed into my lab to streamline the volume of sick looking for my aid.

And even my successes were still limited. I had yet to crack some of the most delicate parts of the human anatomy. I could not restore fertility safely and there were a number of problems with forcing too large a gap in age regression. It might sound a touch arrogant to say that it was not my fault. I understood how to get around the problems but I simply did not have the materials to put my theories into action.

Still, I was making sufficient progress for my purposes.

I looked up from my papers as I heard the minute whine of servos.

I stretched and made my way down the stairs to the chamber where Morygen was moving through a number of minute exercises while Iseult stood next to her, stealing glances at her while her fingers danced along the interface I had salvaged for her.

My sweet wife looked to me with a bright smile as she moved her metal-plated form while Iseult and Merlin adjusted the fit of the carapace armor I had claimed for her.

"I think I'm in love," She chuckled as the simple suit of powered armor whirled and moved around in its newly enameled bronze (a gift from her now much younger aunt and uncle).

I crossed my arms and shook my head, "And here I thought you loved me!"

She fluttered her lashes at me while giving a flourish with Gualguanus, "Don't worry, I have a big heart."

"Sure," I snorted before turning to Iseult. "How is it?"

The former Seeker tilted her head back and forth, the years I had trimmed from her had done nothing to take away from the severity of her features, "The fit is acceptable but some of the parts needed to be salvaged from the other suits."

"Protest, some of those models are not meant to be compatible," Merlin-Calyburne grumbled from its plinth but the Seeker ignored him as she clicked her tongue.

"The other suit fitted to women is largely useless anyway so I broke it down for supplementary materials," she went on while blithely ignoring the fact that she had destroyed the suit that I had hinted would be hers if she could repair it. Iseult might have the personality of a disgruntled hedgehog but she was too proud of her work to prioritize greed over a work well-done.

I nodded while taking a closer look at the bronze hued armor and taking note of the parts that had been swapped out. One knee plate was more rigid than the other while one shoulder plate was more elongated than the other and those were merely the more obvious changes. Some limbs had a chunkier appearance whole others were intricately segmented.

Not that this translated to performance if I was a judge.

"You adjusted well enough," The movements were so fluid as to suggest that the suit had been made in a single piece actually and it moved with a great fluidity.

Iseult pursed, she had yet to look away from her work as she tugged at one of her black locks, "Not me, thank Merlin, he is capable."

"Curiosity, 'he'?" Merlin asked in its four voices.

Iseult did not look acknowledge the question as she continued, "The other two suits were more complete but I advise against using either."

"Really?" Morygen asked between breaths as she sat down on the dirt and whipped the sweat off of her brow.

"Ector's armor is superior by most vectors," she explained. "With your permission, I can salvage the remainder of the second female set for some repairs but it is a waste to breakdown either suit."

"And Trystane?" I noticed the slight shift in Iseult's cheeks. They smelled like each other often but I categorized that as one of the entirely too personal details my body readily noticed.

"The armor we sold had been a unique Treasure in my experience, these suits are too bulky for his preferred style," she said with no changes that a mortal could perceive. "They are better used as gifts."

I considered that before nodding.

"Very well," I acknowledged. The suits of my world were fine pieces of archaeotech but they far beneath the sublime battle-armor that I knew that beings made from my own blood currently wore somewhere in the cosmos. "Then I take it that we are ready to proceed then?"

My plan was not exactly elaborate.

We would go, clad in no small sum of Treasures as a show of wealth under the pretext of offering my services as a healer to the ruler as a form of legitimately selling a rather unique form of Treasure.

Morygen nodded while Iseult chewed her lip in consideration.

"To the capital then?" My wife asked.

"To Wygalois," I smiled.

In retrospect, I was a touch too optimistic about the whole affair.


	30. Escalation I

The capital was an old city and a large one by the standards of the world. In as much as such a technologically chaotic world could have a standard.

Honestly, it reminded of the strangest coupling between medieval Paris, Minas Tirith and a steampunk metropolis.

It lay nestled at the merging of several major rivers which were tributaries to the Knight's Way, a roaring river that fed into the distant sea famed for its crystal blue waters (a result of an ancient Treasure said to lay at the river's bottom).

Its place gave the city a vaguely triangular aspect as it was molded around the flowing waters which fed it all manner of trading vessels and lent it the wealth of the nearby lands. According to the histories, the city was built over an ancient trading point used for heavy freight even during the time of the Fallen Ones which explained the unnaturally wide profile of the Knight's Way and the Conflux which nominally divided the city into its five districts.

On a hill at the conflux of the rivers rose a fortification of considerable scale rose up in a conical style reached out in flying arcs to the double walls that ringed the city each arc was a great road leading to courtyards at each of the wall's joints. These were the noble and common gates, each catering the entry of their namesakes and being vastly different as a result.

This was all finished by great towers reaching from each of the districts around which dozens of airships and aircraft were involved in mooring, departing or unloading their goods.

I had been rather impressed by it all as I passed the twenty meter gates of steel into one such courtyard, the crowned sun of Ailbe carved over it as the symbols of the other ducal houses decorated each of the other noble gates.

It was obviously far inferior to the ruins I had seen but there was something much more captivating about the strange coupling of salvaged technology and primitive culture that left a much more visceral impression on me.

Then things went south.

...

I was a Primarch.

 _Thunk._

I was the post-human creation of a pseudo-god.

 _Thunk._

A being born of the finest gene-smithing.

 _Thunk_.

Crafted in part from the essence of my creator.

 _Thunk_.

Cast away from my creator into a land of fallen technology.

 _Thunk._

Which drew influence from relatively primitive time in human history _._

 _Thunk._

So why?

 _Thunk._

Why did the capital have such a thick wall of bureaucracy in their customs?

 _Thunk._

WHY DID THEY HAVE CUSTOMS?!

The _thunk_ broke through the stone bench when I accidentally put too much force behind my head.

"This is perfectly normal, my boy," Lord Antur seemed untroubled from where he sat across from me on the now damaged stone benches.

I knew that I was not making the best showing, perhaps I was even being uncharacteristically childish about the whole matter but eight hours of waiting had my patience at its end.

"This is utterly absurd," I muttered as I Merlin released his swarm to begin repairing the bench. I was actually bothered enough to feel a sort of vindictive spite at the surprise on the faces of the blue-armoured guards.

"It is tradition," Morygen pointed out from where she sparred with Trystane using practice swords from the wagons.

I say wagons but that is inaccurate.

Lord Antur was a duke of considerable renown and power, he simply _could_ _not_ travel light without risking his reputation. We wanted to make a splash at any rate.

So his caravan was composed of eight transports acquired millennia ago.

They moved with ten iron-like wheels that were half my height, with long rectangular bodies that towered between two and three stories high.

Their once-plain hides had long since been covered with gold and bronze filigree, embed with jewels to mirror suns and their rays as was the Ailbe custom.

And that was just the main grouping, the mobile village had been surrounded by a small army of courtiers, armsmen and servants. Troop transports, truck and wooden wagons made for a strange and mismatched parade made only worse by guards riding armored motorcycles, treaded tanks, horses and grav-chariots around them.

"Is eight hours the norm?" I asked with some mild irritation. I had moved past my annoyance at the weight but my anger was directed towards myself for the embarrassing display.

Lord Antur nodded, "I like to think that I am a humble man but it is part of my rank."

"'Humble' is one name for it, my lord," Lady Ailbe had taken to her treatment with the same grace she had carried beforehand. "To elaborate Galtine. All houses of our rank are required to wait the requisite period at the gates in a show of fealty before being welcomed into the city by our king himself."

"I apologize then," I bowed my head.

"Not at all," Lord Antur sipped from his tea with an amused glimmer in his eye before handing it back to one of the pack of servants that surrounded the table. "I am actually pleased that _something_ can draw such a reaction."

"Its cute actually," Morygen added as she ducked out of the way of Trystane's strike.

I felt my cheeks burn slightly at that but I opted to distract myself by reviewing what I knew about the monarch whom I was about to meet.

King Gaerys XI was a fairly young ruler by the norms of Gwyar, a man of eighteen who had only been two years on the throne with a vigorous faith in the animist faith that dominated Hiber'Cale and already a well reputed as an administrator.

From what Antur had told me, the man was certainly amicable and more sympathetic to the children than most with a son of eight who had already sworn his oaths to the Silver Guild.

I did not predict that he would be a foe, moreso since he had been willing to request my attendance through the duke.

"A question," I said while tapping the table. "What can you tell me of the Immram?"

Lord Antur blinked while Lady Irvana raised a finely trimmed brow.

"You are curious after the Knight of the Seas?" She asked.

I nodded, "The tales were light on specifics."

The Immram, the Knight of the Seas. Last of the knights of Gwyar and a figure of ancient legend for the people of the land.

"Rare for anyone to remember that old Treasure," Morygen commented. She and Trystane had abandoned their swords in favor of trading blows with their hands while Asca and the other guards watched.

Ymer looked away from the duel to look at our conversation with newfound interest there, she had always had an interest in legends and stories. The mute girl was reaching maturity by the standards of the world and I worried that she had grown attached to me and Morygen to the degree of limiting herself socially.

The last year alone had seen the girl grow taller than most humans and her frame had become more noticeably wiry. She resembled her sister more closely now, she had become cutting her red-brown hair shorter and she had begun making an effort to improve her musculature. A moot point of course as she lacked the aptitude, height or natural physique that made her sister such a fine warrior.

Lady Irvana Ailbe passed a hand through her younger niece's hair despite the girl already being taller than her, "You will see it soon I expect, it rests in the throne room of the keep."

"When was the last time that it moved?" I asked. "I could not find a record newer than the battle of the Emerald Fields."

"No, that was the last time I believe," Antur clarified.

"That was six centuries ago," I frowned.

"It was," Irvana confirmed with a touch of pride. "Gwyar is not a land of greedy savages Galtine, we do not war needlessly."

 _Which of course begs the question of what qualifies as 'need', does it not?_ I mused.

Fortunately, I did not have to face that particular thought as one of the numerous side gates in the square yard opened and a party emerged.

I recognized them at once of course even before they stopped at a respectful distance between our table and themselves, in no small part out of deference to the power armored guards of House Ailbe that were between us and them.

"Oathmaster," the leader bowed. "Silver by wat of Justice, Charitable by the nature of my Oath."

I pulled myself up from the bench and bowed my head.

"I greet you, know me as Galtine Ailbe. Silver is my Justice, Charitable is the Oath I hold as Master," I was aware that it was presumptuous to use the full title but at that point I was already well beyond that little threshold of arrogance.

"Then may we find profit," Morygen the Elder croaked in her rough voice before pulling herself up and nodding to me as I advanced to clasp her hand. "At least you got the words right."

"I try," I smiled as I clasped her hand. "It is good to see you well."

I was lying, the veteran Seeker wore the fatigue of futility with a weight that fighting swarms of literal daemons had failed to inflict. Her icy eyes were a touch strained and her short mane was slightly less tidy than I had seen before.

"No need to compliment Oathmaster," she snorted. "I look like I was dragged through hell and I assure you that it looks better than it is."

"Things have been a touch difficult," Calen An allowed as he shook my hand with a slight smile on his long, weathered face. "I see that you are faring well."

"Better than that," My wife laughed as she embraced her namesake. "You should see it! The villages have been harvesting the ruins left and right since you left!"

Her elder took that with a reinvigorated stride and gave a rigid smile at the news.

"So I've heard," I told her as much in my letters and I would be genuinely surprised if word had not reached the capital though the nature of trade and gossip. "And I have news."

"Do sit down then," Lord Antur indicated to the benches where they waited with a polite smile.

I smelled hostility from the Ailbe to the Seekers but let it go without comment, no amount of oaths would change the fact that Lord Antur had lost a brother to the Seekers in more ways than one.

And for their part, the old allies of Morygen's sire did not care much for operating from a place of suspicion (I had delicately avoided informing Morygen Aigred that we had thought her to be a merciless traitor).

They would at least tolerate each other which was enough for now I supposed.

Morygen gave him a stiff nod a slight bow as she sat down on the long table as far from the duke as she could manage, "My thanks."

Her men made to flank her while Asca and his men moved a touch closer to their lord.

She accepted the drink offered by a servant with a nod.

"It seems that we will be getting the desired result," the former Oathmaster explained. "Although just barely."

"The Oathmasters will confirm my rank then?" I asked.

Aigred shook her head thoughtfully, "Better or worse than that depending on how you look at it."

She looked at Iseult and Trystane who had moved closer to each other, "The Guildmaster is concerned with the purge that the Leanan pulled apparently."

That got a couple of raised brows, including my own.

It was not that the interest did not make sense, it set a troubling precedent for all of the guilds for such an obvious power play regardless of the nominal independence of the Ruby.

But that seemed separate from the matter of my own rank unless…

"So the Guildmaster has taken an interest in my case then?" I asked.

"Enough to overturn the Sept-Master and call together a council," Her apprehension was understandable given the rarity of that sort of action. "A move which has picked up quite a bit of action now that you are seeking the patronage of the King, Gaerys has not made any effort to follow the example of the Republic but they're a little anxious. What with you seeking the King's patronage and rumor of his interest in the Treasures of the White Forest."

"I was not aware that plans were in motion," I said apologetically.

She cracked her fingers while shaking her head, "I'd have told you if there was but apparently there was no need to inform me at the time."

My Morygen actually laughed at that, "Then they got to pay for keeping us all in the dark."

I was about to comment that their intention was not the most pressing issue but I was interrupted by thunder.

The thunder of great machines roaring to life as the cyclopean gates before us roared open and another procession came marching through it.

I stifled a sigh.

Life was about to becoming annoyingly political.


	31. Escalation II

Kingship was a role and a title, nothing more and nothing less.

For all of the ideals that stories could give as to how a ruler should look like or what they should _be_ like, the truth of the matter was that a king was just a man and as likely to be unimpressive as any other.

More to the point, kings were particularly prone to falling to that larger-than-life ideal as they merely inherited a role. Their frames could be too pudgy, too thin, too tall or too short and always fell short of the idea of the perfect figure sitting confidently on the thrones of their ancestors.

That was the rule.

Gaerys XI of the Royal Line of Gwyar was a distinct exception to that particular rule, he might even have been impressive if I could still _be_ impressed by humans (which to reiterate, I blame on my creator).

He stood at six feet even, with a build that was between muscular and lithe in a balance that even the best-made sword would find enviable. His black main of straight hair poured just past his shoulders, parting at his temples and framing his face with pleasing proportions. A high brow over dark eyes which gleamed brightly over cheekbones angled down into an aquiline nose and thin mouth whose corners hinted at a smile. Filigreed mechanical plugs rose from high in in his brow with an almost crown-like aspect and were joined to those rising over his ears by thin chains of gold and silver.

He dressed in a following robe of blue silk belted over his midsection by wrapped gold-threaded leather which had been worked intricately into the sigils of his vassal houses. I knew that the royal house itself lacked a crest for the simple reason that such would make it the equal of its subjects.

Yet for the show of authority imbedded into the ritual, he came walking through the great the great parted gates, no horse bore him nor a palanquin.

The beat of his heart and the scent of his skin suggested that he had walked the entire way from the distant castle on foot.

Behind him came fifty guards in power armor decorated and adjusted to draw attention away from their various states of incompletion and disrepair, power weapons clasped to their sides.

Behind them came a few dozen grinding constructs which I could only assume were war constructs of some kind from their bulky stride and the heavy weapons and claws that served as their hands.

But the king came unarmed and wearing little in wealth but the belt and fused crown he bore. The meaning behind his state was obvious, his greatest wealth was the construct to which his life was bonded and the mightiest among his vassals.

Every soul in the courtyard fell to their knees immediately towards the man who was their liege without a moment's hesitation as he walked towards his chief vassal. It took me only a minute moment to mimic the action, my reflexes allowing me to be the first on my knee before the others could complete the action. I supposed that I could have stood defiantly and have made myself a foe for next to no reason but that sort of needless egotism had fortunately not been integrated into my soul when I became a Primarch.

"Antur!" The king's face spread into a wide smile as he spread his arms and pulled the kneeling Highlord up and into a familiar embrace. "Gods, you look good!"

"And I feel even better, Your Grace," The elder man smiled in return with what I suspected was mirth in his rejuvenated eyes. He waved towards where I knelt. "I must introduce you to my newest marriage-kin. You may have heard of him, Your Grace?"

"Ah yes, your new nephew. I _is_ rather difficult to miss his name lately." The king turned towards me in as fluid a motion as I had seen from a noble and regarded me with keen-eyed interest before shaking his head in disbelief as he strolled towards me.

"By the Sun, Moon and Stars," He shouted the old expletive as he met me met me at eye level despite my kneeling low. "I had heard that you were a large one but that this! That must have been _quite_ a Treasure!"

I knew bait when I saw it.

It was an invitation to brag to be sure, one which I had no inclination to take. He knew that I had no memory probably so in all likelihood the question was designed to see if I put my ego over my honesty.

"No, Your Grace," I bowed my head. "I have no memory of it, whatever Treasure I found is lost to me, along with the man who earned it."

There was a half-truth that I was not quite comfortable with. Not for the lie but for the hidden meaning in it.

Far from put out, the king laughed uproariously at my answer, "Yes! I imagine that is a fair way to put it! So you are Galtine Ailbe then? A name of portents if I ever heard one! You should come! Forswear any dream of entry into the Guild and serve me!"

It was worded as a joke, a bawdy offer to garner laughter around us. The glint in his eyes told me that it was anything but.

I supposed that I had to give the man credit for that, he did not shy away from offering me power and station in front of a sea of witnesses. Had I not the senses of a Primarch, I might have thought it a joke or noble petulance but no, the man one of the rarest mortal gifts. A disarming charisma and a great deal of it at that.

"I cannot, My Lord," I apologized. "I come as a Seeker wishing to offer his wares to your august self."

The man crossed his arms and his eyes turned canny above his undaunted smile, "The procedure, yes? I had initially thought it an exaggeration but to see my old friend and his beloved lady so rejuvenated. Well, the priests might have the right of it with you Galtine."

"Priests?" I asked the king whose amusement only grew.

"Well the gods can hardly ignore the blessed giant that slew an aspect of the Red Horse and purified a ruin lost for generations beyond counting," The King chortled. "That is the sort of thing that gets a man's attention you know."

I recognized rhetorical tactics very well and they were over the entirety of every word that the king spoke. Stroke my ego for all that it was worth.

Sadly, it would not have worked on any of my brothers anymore than it did on me. Most had a peculiar sort of arrogance that would see them take offense to even a mortal offering them praise.

"I am flattered, Your Grace," Being rude was unnecessary and pointing out that most of the actual gods wanted me some variety of dead or enslaved in all probability.

"Although," He tapped his clean-shaven face with a thumb. "I was expecting someone a touch less humble, what with your fellows insisting so much on your rank."

His eyes drifted over the Seekers be he laughed again and waved a hand.

"But never mind my doddering, you are all welcome in Wygalois as is the right of all who wish to see the rose of Gwyar!" He punctuated the last with the flourish of a magician or performer rather than a king to the humour of the courtyard.

Myself included given the amused smile on my face.

…

We walked through the great bridge with Lord Antur and King Gaerys at the head of a great column towards the castle.

Crowds cheered from the roofs of the buildings lining along the sides of the arc, I could not help but be amused at the cultural implications of the filled amphitheaters which had been carved into the squat structures. I strongly suspected that the bridges and the castle rising in the distance were of a far older make than the city around us from the differences in style and construction.

The arced bridges were wide things of dozens of feet in width and the cobblestone beneath us sounded as if it covered a metallic body meant to withstand the incredible weight of Knight-Constructs. The fortress in the distance was a structure of metal ornamented with dozens of towers sprouting from its back.

I idly noted that combined, it was entirely possible that Wygalois had functioned as a type of defense chokepoint for the war machines in addition to having been a port of some sort before the Outbreak.

Musings of that sort were disrupted as Morygen tapped my side.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She asked with her usual good humor.

I… well I would not go that far.

The stench that I had been able to ignore from outside was more pronounced as I walked over the ancient city. Wygalois had some measure of sewage systems but those did not reach the length of the city and did precious little about the hundreds of other scents that arose from city-life in such a society.

I was idly horrified as my nose and brain separated and identified each note in the cacophony of stench. My ears cut through the chatter of those around us and the cheers of the crowds to the distant sounds of screaming, scheming, begging and murder. A look into the swell of the city with my eyes allowed me to see starving men on the roadsides, packs of feral children in the alleys and all manner of tragedies.

The beautiful image of the city was revealed as false the more scrutiny I paid.

"It's quite lovely," I lied.

And Morygen poked at my side with a frown flashing for a moment across her face, "You promised not to lie to me. You don't like it?"

"Yes," I confessed with some slight guilt.

My memories of my past life were crystal clear in that body. I recalled my years of study well and my study of Europe and Asia's medieval periods as well as their present realities.

Wygalois was _not_ an ugly city. It was far more orderly and peaceful than any of its predecessors could ever have claimed to be in similar times on Terra. For every tragedy I could sense a hundred better events.

"I just wonder if my creator deliberately wished for this," I mused quietly in the High Gothic I had spent months drilling into my wife. "For it to be difficult to not see the ugly beneath the good."

Little wonder that my brothers were so content to either leave societies to rot or go mad if they had a similar experience of the world. I wondered if that meant that those like Guilliman were resistant to it or just a particular breed of mad.

"Well he certainly made you dramatic," My wife poked my side again. "We'll talk about it more later, nothing good ever comes from letting you brood."

"Fair," I allowed before opting to change the subject. "Where is the Guild's Hearth?"

Guilds kept operating centers in most major cities, I had been rather surprised that they were referred to as 'Hearths' rather than Guildhalls.

Morygen shook her head, "The main one's in Argentum." She pointed to the castle. "The Wygalois Hearth's north of the main keep."

"Then I would appreciate it you would point me to the other sites," I attempted. "To keep me from brooding."

She snickered, "Well I'm not really an expert on the city but if it keeps you from being all broody."

"Broody?" I raised a brow.

"Yes, 'broody'," She waved me off. "Now hold on a bit while I make up something for what those buildings!"

I let out a genuine chuckle as she started randomly pointing at structures and giving them improvised names and functions.

The ugliness was much easier to ignore as I kept my eyes on my wife.

It was becoming a habit.


	32. Escalation III

It is funny how a human's mind works. Even one which had been fiddled with to the point that 'human' required some squinting to apply.

I had spent nearly an entire year sleeping in a cramped, house with only a single room and ill-fitting furniture.

Yet only a few months in a reasonably scaled home had ruined me.

We were given a 'reasonable' set of apartments that dwarfed our house on the hill. The furnishings were extravagantly made things of precious woods and filigreed steel. The walls were lined with fabulous murals depicting the battles of the royal house and the paintings probably took years to create.

It was also obviously not scaled to my size.

"I am genuinely wary of taking a seat," I commented as Morygen flopped onto the generously stuffed bed and rubbed her face against the feathered pillows.

We had taken refuge in a spacious bedroom (which I would have preferred to be cramped with an adequately sized bed) with two large windows that gave us a nice enough view of the city. Not that there was much of a view now that the sun had set.

She gave me an impish look, "Well I don't think beds are for _sitting_."

"Amusing," I rolled my eyes. "I guess I shall sleep on the floors then."

On que she rolled off the bed and onto the thick rug beneath, "This is good too."

"Yes," I observed dryly. "That was my point."

Well, there was at least room on the floor for that much at least.

"Clarification," Merlin commented from its scabbard. "Sarcasm?"

"Yes Merlin," I answered despite knowing that the construct understood sarcasm perfectly well.

Morygen chuckled as she rested her back on the nightstand.

"What did you think?" she asked with some residual humor. "Of the king?"

Said monarch had excused us after our arrival at the palace to be taken to our rooms and be allowed to wash and rest ourselves before our formal reception in the throne room tomorrow.

"A gregarious sort," I shrugged. "Although I am almost certain that he was not expecting my size," I looked around the room in emphasis. "And I take that to mean that other news with regards to us might have been similarly thought to be idle gossip or exaggeration to some degree."

Morygen scratched her cheek while resting her head against the stand, "That's not a bad thing."

"Definitely," I agreed. After all that meant that I might be able to leverage the surprise to sway the leadership of the guild to confirm my rank. "Provided that my arrival does not put them in a bad way."

"Morygen will know," My wife said in reference to her namesake.

The former Oathmaster had agreed to meet us at a local tavern the following evening to discuss our next move and to learn a touch more about the other actors in my little drama with the guild. It was in truth too late in the day now for such matters and we would have to present ourselves to the king before we would be allowed to sleep for the night.

"Assertion," Merlin commented from within Calyburne. "Then we should move quickly to go to this meeting then."

The Seeker resting against the stand chuckled at the constructs impatience. "We have to attend the court first, Merlin. Can't go breaking tradition. Us people need to _sleep_ anyway you know."

"Annoyance, I find it tedious that we have to introduce ourselves twice." The sword commented.

"It is for our benefit," I pointed out. "He is giving us a chance to make ourselves presentable."

"Acknowledgement, we understand this. That does not render it pleasant," The sword corrected.

Our little debate was interrupted by a knock at the door.

I immediately tensed visibly while Morygen stiffened in response.

"What's wrong?" She asked quietly in the tongue of Terra.

"Too many heartbeats," I muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

There were five heartbeats beyond the door and two more… outside?

I did not need to say another word for Morygen to quietly ease herself to her feet and unsheathe her Gualguanus from its sheath.

The knock came again a few mortal breaths later while the heartbeats outside moved closer to the outside windows.

My ears perked at the sound of scratching on stone and I frowned as I neared the windows that I felt them advancing towards.

I realized that I had miscounted as I neared.

There were four hearts beating, not two. The distant thumps were merely linked so closely that they hid within each other.

Morygen moved towards the double doors of the room as another knock came, a more insistent one than before.

"My lord," an unfamiliar voice came. "Are you well?"

Morygen's eyes narrowed at the doors in mild-outrage at the suggestion that she would be so foolish as to believe the bait.

Neither of us responded as she moved behind the door and I did the same between the windows.

The heartbeats were closer now as the knock came again and I heard mutters between the men outside of the door as they began to back away and I pointed at Morygen to move back.

She barely had time to react as the door exploded along with the windows, jumping back and away from the shattering wood shards as the men charged in the wake of blast.

I registered the men as wearing the sapphire plate of royal guards and the powered swords in their hands. I only thought it the work of the king for a spare moment before taking account of the marked of cleaned blood of the plate in the light. A mortal would have missed the slighted stain of the marks at the corners of the plate and the minute imperfections of the fit, more importantly they had guns.

Each had a heavy pistol in their spare hands which shun an eerie blue in the semi-dark of the night and aimed forward.

The figures leaping in through the breaking windows were entirely different sorts. Jet-black and clawed figures with long, spindly limbs and compact torsos with strange yellow-lensed helmets that seemed like specters in the night. The way they moved was in flawless synch, taught muscles making flawlessly economic movements as the twins made their way in and allowed their likely identical fellows to follow behind them.

They were the more dangerous of the two figures.

Dangerous, but not Primarchs.

I was already moving while they were in the process of landing at either side of me.

Calyburne came into the torso of the left figure with a precise plunge that would have wrenched a man in half.

Yet to my shock the figure accounted for the motion and kicked its legs down to raise its torso just in time to pull itself out of the fatal strike.

I twisted and turned the thrusting blade upward into a cut that caught its chest and usurped the force of the motion and sent it screaming into the window. I heard a satisfying crack of a breaking spine as it bent backwards against the top of the frame but I did not have the time to take pride in the kill.

I heard three growls of rage around me even before I found myself evading streams of blue light that hissed as they ionized the air around them.

Moving around them forced me to surrender the initiative of the fight to the things as the others entered even as Morygen brought her sword down on the outreached hand of one of the gunmen while knocking him back into his fellows.

I did not have time to pay the other battle much mind, trusting my dear wife to fight off the somewhat sloppy guards while I fought off the three creatures in black.

They circled me in hunchbacked stances which added to their ghoulish profiles before lunging forwards again with a precision that announced a speed and finesse that suggested both a great deal of engineering and skill beyond.

The it actually took effort to avoid their strikes probably spoke more glowingly of their abilities than mine. I moved below a sweeping of claws and a kick of decapitating claws.

I slipped down and reached up with my empty hand to encapsulate it's too thick neck and drag it down into the path of its fellows kick while breaking its neck from the force of the drag. The claws broke through the black coating to reveal the red viscera of a human before retracting its leg as quickly as it had come and lunging back.

I evaded another pass with my shield at the cost of one of its legs from claws sharp enough to sever bone before tossing it like a projectile at the melee on the other side of the room.

The bloody mess hit a tall woman square in the chest and sent her reeling against the wall. She had a few heartbeats to be thankful to not have suffered a concussion from the crash before Morygen drove her white sword into one of the eye slots of her helmet before pulling it back to defend against another strike.

The observation almost cost me a blow to my side as the creature managed to cut into my flank while its remaining twin attempted to sever my exposed neck with a coup de'grace that would have made heroes of legend weep with envy.

I roared as I caught while catching the leg of the other creature with Calyburne and caught the higher creature's hand with my spare and I pushed a leg around as I curled and brought the creature down with enough force to hear the groaning of breaking stone beneath the rug.

I took no chance before bringing down Calyburne on its waist and bisecting the creature.

I was about to look up to the remaining creature when Morygen tried to bite down a scream of pain as a power sword cut into her bicep. She was surrounded by the three remaining infiltrators in the plate and in parrying two had given one the opportunity of an unexpected strike. A lesser warrior would have lost an arm to the blow but Morygen pushed the pain aside in time to move away in time for only the thinnest part of the blade to do its work.

Red filled my vision at the sight of her wound and I was charging before I could think.

The man did not have time to react as I crossed the distance and crushed him plate and all against the wall with enough force to crack the steel and bone beneath.

Morygen took the opportunity of the assassins collective shock and drove Gualguanus into gap in the neckplates of one of the men before grappling the remaining man to the ground using her height and muscle to pin the tired man. They were struggle for the sword before I brought down my foot onto his head with crushing force, I bit back a yelp of pain as the breaking steel bit into the sole of my foot.

I looked up but the last of the creatures had already fled through the window.

The room was a mess of broken bodies, blood, broken furnishings and glass shards.

Morygen dropped her sword and clamped her hand over her wounded arm and chuckled through grit teeth.

"I really have to stop getting wounded," she hissed as she leaned against the wall and eased herself down.

"Forget that," I dismissed as I fell to a knee next to her and Calyburne released a swam of nanites which formed a brace around the cut.

Reassured that she did not look terminally injured I let out a breath of relief and offered her a smile, "Think of it as giving me practice."

Morygen raised a brow for a moment before cracking into a laugh and making a weak attempt to kick my shin, "Don't make me laugh, it hurts!"

It was not long after that a horde of armored guards came charging in the carnal sight.

Morygen laughed at their arrival before scratching her cheek.

"Could we get new rooms?" She had smiled. "The neighbours are a bit noisy."


	33. Escalation IV

"Nine." King Gaerys said as he leaned forward on his throne of blue-veined marble. "Nine intruders entered _my_ castle and nearly slew the family of _my_ vassal."

His voice was calm and retained the same friendly tone but that was made unsettling by his gritted teeth and the force behind each emphasis.

We had been escorted away from the damaged room and to one of the lesser audience chambers in the castle. The only others present (aside from two dozen guards encircling us in full suits of powered armor) were Lord Antur and the council of the king.

Among said council was a tall woman in sapphire powered armor who was on the receiving end of the king's displeasure.

The guard captain grimaced but nodded, "That is correct, Your Grace."

"Which begs the question," The king continued with a grim cast to his eyes. "How much harder would it have been? To climb a little higher to move past a few more safeguards?"

He took a long drink from his cup before slamming it on the arm of his throne, "How much farther captain? How much farther to the rooms were my grandchildren, to where my _children_ sleep?"

It was to her credit that she did not look away from the understandably furious king.

"It was a mistake, Your Grace," she agreed. "If you wish me to surrender my post-"

"And how will that help?" Gaerys took a moment to collect himself. "Then the next one will repeat the mistake. No, you will learn how this happened captain and you will see to it that it does not happen again. Am I understood?"

"Clearly, Your Grace," the captain nodded her shaven skulp. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Then leave and come back to me with a report before dawn," the King dismissed the woman.

She wasted no time in marching out of the room while the king turned his attention to the rest of those gathered.

"Antur," He lowered his head slightly at the once older man. "I must offer you my sincerest apologies at what has befallen brother's daughter and her husband."

The Lord nodded from where he sat next to Morygen's side. He showed the composure of his true age but I could read the tension in his shoulders and the pump of his heart. That along with the crushing grip he had on his niece's hand was enough for me to check him off of my list of suspects (and feel mildly guilty about his presence on said list).

Both were appropriate masks for the situation. Although the king seemed to have the added benefit of being genuine in his anger while Lord Antur's words did not reflect his expression.

"I thank you, Your Grace," his voice was collected in contrast to the kings anger. "But my relief will only come when the heads of the perpetrators are laid out before me."

"It could be worse, Your Grace," I spoke for the first time from behind Morygen. None of the rooms furnishings were properly scaled and I did not think that I could sit at any rate.

I did not have the authority to speak but I desperately needed to do just that.

Talk, think over the attackers plan, observe the reactions around us.

It took up a great deal to consume a primarchs full attention and at that moment I was desperate to do just that.

"How So?" asked one of the four remaining advisors. A rather pudgy woman with a hard face and with small, borrowing eyes.

"They did not account for me, My Lady," I said diplomatically. "They would have sent a _greater_ force if they had."

 _Unless they were trying to kidnap Morygen_ , I added internally. It was a more reasonable notion but unsatisfactory in that it still reflected a misjudgment of my abilities.

"I'll say," Morygen said with a tense smile. "He killed three Fear Gorta."

Mention of the three altered humans (I supposed) silenced the others in the room with looks of unsettled surprise and altered paces reflected some horror.

"Fear Gorta?" The King asked again as of to confirm that he had heard correctly. "Fear Gorta."

"Yes, Your Grace," The Seeker confirmed while scratching her cheek.

"Fear Gorta?" Asked a thin man with heavy necklaces of gold. "That seems a touch… extreme."

Morygen shrugged, "The bodies are in the chamber, you'll see soon enough anyway."

"Ailbe are not known for lying," the king admitted as he leaned back in his throne. "And the last time I misjudged their words I got quite a surprise."

In emphasis he pointed to the rejuvenated Lord Antur who let go of his niece's hand to put a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"It is a troubling notion but my niece is not prone to lying." The old man confirmed.

Morygen gave me a quick flicker of her eyes daring me to mention her fondness for exaggeration.

"The captain will have the truth of it soon I would imagine," I mentioned. "But I confess that I am not familiar with the name."

I did not quite appreciate the looks of stupefied surprise at that.

"A child's tale," Lord Antur provided quickly as he was the most aware of my condition beyond my wife and sword. "And also a group of killers."

"A 'group of killers'," the large woman snorted. "A rather simple way to state the matter. Those monsters are more myth than simple assassins. Clawed creatures that are more shadow than flesh which slay any foe without fail."

"Yes," Morygen nodded tersely and her smile faltered. "Shadows, broken glass and clawed forms that came and vanished into the shadows of the room. I didn't see them until he caught them."

I frowned internally at her pronouncement, had I misjudged how fast the creatures were? They had been quick enough to react to my strikes… and I was a Primarch…

How had they done that?

"So I have been in this city for less than a full day and I have been attacked by a semi-mythical order of assassins?" I asked in confusion.

"And _killed_ them," The king said before chuckling. "Well my lords. I suggest that we have some drink before we see these Fear Gorta and see how they compare to legend."

I really did not want to see that.

Since I was desperately attempting to not engage with my first actual kill.

…

Two hours and several cups later the guard captain had returned with one of the 'Fear Gorta' bodies in the arms of two guards who laid them thing out on the table.

It was the one which I had killed first and its stomach was still bent upwards and cut open as a result of its demise. Far from making it more disturbing, the viscera was actually reassuringly human compared to the rest of it.

Its skin was a black mix of metallic scale and muscle along a body nearly two meters tall when stretched away from its hunched form. Its torso was actually larger than a typical human's but heavily muscled against nearly twice if not thrice the length of what would have been proportionate, each limb was terminated in six long claws that seemed almost like lightning-claws in form. The head was a bulky, simian mask with almost insectile eye-lenses over a series of slits that were probably meant to gather sensory input.

If it were not for the red blood from its wound, I have said that it was a xenos species of some kind rather than human.

"Well," the spindly man with the chain tugged at the tall neck of his tunic nervously. "That certainly fits the legends."

"Fascinating," the larger woman said as she expertly appraised one of the claws.

Morygen for her part glared at the body, "I don't think that there can be doubt, Your Grace."

"I would say!" The king was among the few that seemed mollified by the corpse along with the grim-faced captain. It was reassuring to see that no mere bandits violated their security, I wagered.

The larger woman looked up from the body to regard me with more interest than before, "Quite impressive, I do not think that I have ever heard of someone killing a Fear Gorta before much less three."

It was not worth mentioning, the issue with being a Primarch was that precious few things could be a threat to me as long as I did not do something outlandishly stupid. It was more impressive that the things had not been summarily slaughtered the moment that they attacked.

Slaughtered.

I slaughtered _humans_.

I killed people.

No matter how monstrously altered, I had killed people.

And… and I did not bother me in the slightest.

I had ended half-a-dozen lives in the span of a few breaths with no hesitation and even staring at one of my kills I could not summon anything more than some vague interest in its alterations.

I was more horrified by my lack of reaction than the action itself.

But I forced that particular fear down quickly and cleared my throat.

"Now that it is confirmed, is there any particular patron or pay that the Fear Gorta favor?" I asked in hopes of distracting myself.

"No," the big woman shook her head with a professional tone. "They are a peculiar order, they are obviously altered using some sort of reliably produced Treasure but they are notoriously not loyal to any particular patron."

"The others might be more useful to that end," The guard captain offered. "I have my men looking as to when those five infiltrated the castle, if Lady Corswa would lend her aid then I would track them back to their employers rather than chasing legends."

I would have been inclined to agree to that sentiment when Merlin opted to reveal himself to the collected assembly.

"Suggestion," The sword at my hilt spoke with its four voices. "I might be able to deduce some traits from the modifications of the body."

Lord Antur seemed to resist the impulse to slap a hand over his face while Morygen nuzzled at my side, too tired to concern herself with the surprise while the others in the rooms snapped their heads towards the blade at my side.

The king gave me an amused look, "A healer able to cut the years away from the body, a Seeker to do what thousands have failed and a warrior to kill shadows. I suppose that you should have a talking sword as well then."

That made two people to have noticed the rather strange resume that I had begun to make for myself.

"A prized Treasure and friend," I explained as I drew the sword. "It might be able to learn more of my attacker."

"Then by all means," King Gaerys waved at the body.

At the last word the nanites surged forwards and into the body like a swarm of locusts

Merlin began to idly chatter in High Gothic while the others let it work with curious expressions.

Much to my own shame, I quickly tuned out their words in order to listen to the sword read out its assessment.

"Synthetic Organs have replaced most of the primary architecture."

"Morrow replaced with unidentified polymer."

"Bone restructuring suggests alteration of material strength."

"Musculature condensed beyond recommended parameters and several layers of additional grafted materials."

"Armor structure grafted to skin and interconnected with the structure."

"Adrenal glands magnified threefold in size, efficiency modified."

"Skull disassembled to a considerable degree within the helmet structure."

"Sight, Hearing and Scent all show signs of augmentation, divergence imperfect. Working theory of heavy dependence of stabilizing medicinals to function given the imperfections of the construct."

"Neuro-structure augmented so as to allow-success! Record confirmed in mechanical aspect. Rudimentary targeting program confirmed."

"Conclusion," Merlin chimed before the nanites surged up to form a relief of the image preserved in the artificial records of the modified assassin.

An image which solicited looks of unwelcomed concern on the gathered figures.

"Well, that's not good," Morygen sighed. "We have somehow got ourselves on the Guildmaster's murder list."


	34. Escalation V

I started my day running at an inhuman speed down the long staircases of the castle like a transhuman trying to outrun death.

Which I supposed that I was after a fashion.

As it turned out, Morygen had been a tad premature in her declaration. The Fear Gorta had no record of their employer, apparently the entire cell kept backup data on their _targets._

Merlin had surmised that the cell was composed of ten Fear Gorta sent after three targets.

I was one with four of the augmented killers sent to take my life.

Four had been sent after the Silver Guildmaster. The king had obviously sent a company of guards down the route that reports indicated that the leader was proposed to get take but that was a pointless gesture even if none of us would admit to it. Fear Gorta could cut throw Adamantium alloyed armor like paper and move fast enough to keep up with a damned Primarch. The Guildmaster would either be dead by the time they intercepted him or they would also be slaughtered like wailing babe even if they outnumbered the monsters twenty to one.

The Guildmaster was going to die and there was nothing that could be done.

Something might be done for the third target.

Two of the creatures were meant to kill my chief supporter in the guild.

Morygen Aigred would be dead if I did not reach the Silver Hearth fast enough.

So I ran with enough power to outpace a number of vehicles while most of my support ran for vehicles.

Most.

"My dignity is truly the thing of legend," Trystane commented dryly as I carried him like an infant in full carapace armor.

Support was always worth some trouble and he was the most skilled fighter I trusted after the now sleep-deprived Morygen.

"Observation, I am always carried as well," Calyburne commented as it swayed at my side.

"You, dear sword. Are a sword," Trystane pointed out. "You are _meant_ to be carried."

"Clarification, that is only partially correct," Merlin said with some indignation.

I paid little attention to the exchange between the rejuvenated mortal and the technologically-possessed sword as well as the faces on the confused bystanders that we left in our wake as I leapt off one of the lowest turns to crash into a rooftop a half-dozen meters below.

As I ran and leapt from rooftop to rooftop I indulged in the urge that had been bothering me since Merlin had finished his peripheral autopsy.

The Fear Gorta were _fascinating._

A number of their modifications were nothing short of art.

The strange polymer that replaced their marrow were not only far lighter than the original substance but somehow _produced_ blood through synthesizing structures that veined the durable material. The artificial blood was gene-typed to the rest of the subject's body with a far greater efficiency than standard cells.

The clever efficiency of the modification was rivaled by the ludicrous degree to which the internal musculature was enhanced through both surgical augmentation and the result of enhanced musculature growth. The things could probably rip the heavily armored head off of royal war automata without any real exertion on their part.

Skin and armor that could probably laugh off a few strikes from powered weapons (which interestingly confirmed my suspicion that Moraltaches were indeed stronger than conventional power weapons) before bending while being feather-light. Medicinal enhancements for reflexes to match a Primarch and speed to match…

Honestly the only way that I saw to kill the things required either rather high-grade explosives or something like me which could match its mind-bending speed coupled with strength that could by no definition be called 'human'.

But that was not even the most interesting thing about them to me.

Merlin surmised that the corpse was well over four hundred years old from what evidence it could produce.

That was well beyond the improvements that I had made to the rejuvenative medicines that I had reverse engineered.

And it had shown no sign of degradation whatsoever.

I desperately wanted to get those bodies in a proper facility.

To salvage every secret I could from their bodies and then track down those who were actively _producing_ the creatures.

There were a number of monstrous augmentations that were arguably unnecessary and I suspected that the result was designed to be terrifying.

Their secrets needed to be claimed and their production stopped.

It gave me both a moral, personal and scientific reason to claim their source for my own.

Those were pipe dreams however and I quickly sorted them away in favor of the much more pressing concern on my mind.

Preventing the grisly demise of one of my more trusted allies.

"We are almost there," I breathed as we neared the plaza that was dominated by the eight spires of the Hearth.

I launched myself from a three-storied house and came down with more grace than someone my size should have been able to manage.

"I suspect that you are showing off," Trystane commented as I launched myself towards the Hearth.

"Agreement," Merlin added.

"Your opinions will be taken into consideration once the Oathmaster is safe," I shot back.

As we ran towards the opening gate of silver and wood a small Party of guards in silver brushed armor emerged. They rushed forward with powered spears while calling for us to halt.

I chose a different response.

"I am Galtine AIlbe," I roared in place of giving a mark (that I did not have). "Silver is my Justice, Charitable is the Oath I hold as Master!"

I wove through them as I ran into the fortress.

The interior of the main structure was a cyclopean globe of silver pillars and statuary that I wove through while jogging towards the wing that Morygen had told me her namesake dwelled within.

I was thankful that the guards before _that_ door were among those who had joined in the Raid, they managed to barely pull the doors open in time to let me run through them.

A few minutes later I was dragging the short-haired woman out of bed and explaining to an army of irritated Seekers why I had caused such a commotion.

…

Charity, Vengeance, Patience.

Those were virtues claimed by the three Oathmasters that I explained my situation to along with the Sect-master.

Sect-Master Snechta Igre was probably not a cheerful person when he was well rested given the frown-lines around his thin lips and the dire cast to his black eyes.

"Fear Gorta," He said as he rubbed his eyes. "I suppose that they were backed by a pact of Mountain Dragons and a trustworthy merchant?"

That got a snicker from the tall master of Steadiness and the short master of Vengeance from where they flanked him on their wide table.

I stood across from them like a defendant before a tribunal and raised a brow.

"People continue to underestimate the authenticity of my claims," I said with some irritation.

"Your claim is _noted_ ," The Sect-Master said with some annoyance. "And yes, anyone with ears will hear the appearance of the great Lord of Ailbe's healing and you are _obviously_ larger than rumor said. I do not doubt the authenticity of your claim but the lunacy of the circumstance."

That was…

"I merely came to protect Oathmaster Morygen," I explained. "It is my understanding that no one else is able to safely engage with the Fear Gorta."

"Fear Gorta," Aed of Vengeance shook his heavily bearded face. "That they would attack the guild seems a touch far-fetched."

"To be clear, we do not discredit that _you_ were attacked," Dobur of Patience added quickly. "But at present you are not one of us, not in print anyway. The Guild is not attacked. Certainly not by Fear Gorta."

The elder Morygen frowned from next to Aed, "That is conjecture."

"The case of Oathmaster Leode is noted, Oathmaster Morygen," The Sect-Master had a tone of impatience in those words. I felt the mood of a frequent subject from the others around them.

"The Guildmaster is also a target," I said patiently.

"Assuming that the information you divined from a corpse is correct," Dobur raised a thin brow to emphasize how ridiculous the claim was. "You ask for a great deal of faith and offer precious little proof Galtine Ailbe."

"To say nothing of so boldly breaking custom," The Sect-Master shook his head. "You come uncalled to the city and identify yourself as Oathmaster. Some might think that you seek to claim your rank before the Guildmaster arrives for the summit."

We were far from alone in the hall adjacent to the main chamber.

Hundreds of Seekers had been roused from their sleep and now surrounded us with a miasma of annoyance.

I could have subtly defended myself from the claim but I opted to be a Primarch about the subject instead.

I squared my shoulders and straightened to my full height.

"I could also say that it is convenient that assassins were sent after my life the very night of my arrival and that the Guildmaster might well be cut down before he can arrive to confirm my long-delayed rank," I crossed my arms and stuck out my chin. "I have waited a half-year for confirmation without ill-intent and only act now in defense of a friend. It is unjust of you to so easily draw such harsh implications on my honor."

The words were brutal and somewhat rude but they were backed by placing myself in the position of honor rather than as a force undermining tradition.

The Sect-Master creased his brows in annoyance at my own accusation, "I am of silver whereas you are not. I understand that tradition is lost on 'Children' but I will never degrade myself as far as to hire assassins to do my work for me. If I had _any_ desire to challenge you, then I would do so with my blade not some glorified cutthroat."

Had I been _any_ of my brothers, those would have been the man's last words before he became as mark of red paint on the white stone of the roof.

"As entertaining as this trade of insults is," Dobur interjected before I spoke. "I do not think that it is helpful to escalate this so far."

I looked down at the woman who was still shorter than my own mate by two inches despite being far taller than most mortals.

"I have done nothing but conduct myself as best I could with tradition," I said patiently. "Yet I am even denied membership much less my-"

"Actually," Aed coughed into his metallic hand. "That much is not a matter of debate."

"Indeed," The Sect-Master ground his teeth. "However I might think you unsuitable for rank, you are undoubtedly a Seeker and that makes you of Silver given the fate of the 'White Forest'".

The elder Morygen did not give it away easily but the slight change in her musculature and eyes suggested that she had not expected the move.

"Then I will be given my mark then?" I asked.

"Yes," The Sect-Master confirmed with annoyance. "Although your glove will clearly require more specialized measurements."

It was becoming painfully clear to me that the man was an enemy.

Worse, he was an enemy that had no problem making himself obvious about it. The honest antagonism was the sign of a true traditionalist.

"And if the Guildmaster has indeed been slain?" I asked.

The drew a murmur from the men and women around us.

"Then you will have to wait until a new one is elected," The old man tapped the table.

I sighed while scanning the crowd, it was strange that the Fear Gorta had not made their move. I saw nothing that could stop them here except for…

I blinked and fell silent.

One of the Fear Gorta had escaped…

Almost as if to punctuate the statement, the doors were pulled open as a royal guard ran in with the heavy breathing of a messenger.

"There had been another attack!" The guard shouted to the general surprise of the Seekers.

The Sect-Master pulled himself up and slammed his hands on the table, "What attack?"

"Fear Gorta!" The guard shouted. "They attacked the castle again!"

Those clever bastards.


	35. Escalation VI

I supposed that the Fear Gorta were not used to losing… 'operatives' seems like the wrong word. I imagined that there was probably never a need to account for body disposal in such a situation until I had killed the bulk of a squad.

So I gave them credit for improvisation when they assaulted the castle, cutting a bloody swath through anyone and anything that got in their way.

Not that I cared a great deal about that at the time.

"You are safe," I embraced Morygen without a word of greeting to the others as I entered the apartments.

The considerably shorter Seeker gave me a laugh as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

"I am not _that_ reckless," She lied.

"Of course, neither am I," Morygen raised an amused brow as I let her down.

"Oh yes," Trystane said as he walked in behind me. "He nearly ended up in a duel with your Sect-Master, not terribly reckless at all."

I winced while looking to the rest of the room.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself on my account Galtine," Lady Irvana said dryly while sipping her tea at the head of the sitting room.

I was about to apologize when another short form came barreling at me.

"You had her quite worried as well," The Lady continued as Ymer buried her head in my side.

I blinked as I realized that my little sister-in-law had not seen me since before the assassination attempt.

I supposed that I deserved the angry glare she shot up at me.

"Sorry for not filling you in," I offered.

I could almost hear the profanities in her look.

"It is Morygen's fault in truth?" I tried again.

"Wait, what?" Morygen gave me a betrayed look.

"You would do the same in my place," I shot back in High Gothic.

"Yes, but that is not the point!" Morygen huffed while Ymer seemed to not believe my ingenious deception.

"Very well," I chuckled slightly. "I will be sure to inform you personally the next time someone comes seeking my life."

 _There is a promise that could get tedious_ , I sighed internally.

"As entertaining as your excuses are," Lady Irvana interjected. "I would rather that you told us all what has happened. I am afraid that my dear husband is still in the company of his Grace."

That was understandable, the incident was rapidly spiraling out of control and I knew Lord Antur well enough to know that it was not in his nature to sit idle through such a situation.

I sighed while taking a seat on a cleared space between the couches while thinking over how I would explain the events of the day to the others.

Aside from my wife, her sister and aunt there were the three Seekers who had until recently claimed a place among the Ruby Guild.

I took some solace that Ector had joined us. The older man had become more and more of a recluse since I had told him how long it would take to earn his old place back.

It was natural, there were people that could not abide being unable to do anything and the Seeker Guilds tended to attracted those sort of people in bulk.

He still tried to project the same faint smile and strength that had once radiated from him in excess but it was an unconvincing attempt. He was eating less and there was less effort in his appearance. His doublet was a touch rumpled and his clothes were essentially wearing him from the way that he was shedding muscle and fat. His tanned skin was beginning to sag and stress was beginning to grey proud brown mane.

What was worse was the defeated look in his eyes, there amber tone having become dull and muted where they once glittered with life and wisdom.

Iseult and Trystane sat to either side and I could all but sense how he relied on them for support now.

But I could do no more for the man than to try and help him, an act which had already played a part in bringing the killers down on my head as likely as not.

Not that I said that of course.

I told them of the happenings in the Guild Hearth and my rather… _terse_ exchange with the Sect-Master during the impromptu tribunal.

"I am no Seeker," Lady Irvana sniffed. "But this does sound like an undesirable turn of events."

"To say the least, My Lady," Ector said quietly. "Your Sect-Master, he is respected. He was as fine a man as any in his prime and made a good administrator back in your father's day." He looked to Morygen apologetically. "I had understood that he's gotten a bit more set in his ways since your father's death."

"I doubt that the Guildmaster being slain will warm him to us," I sighed. The Sect-Master sounded like a reactionary sort, the type who reacted to troubling circumstance by attempting to preserve what was rather than adapt to it.

I could admire that, a man of conviction.

"Even if he's not the one the called a hunt on us," Morygen scratched her head in irritation. "Someone wants our heads and badly."

"Galtine's head," Iseult corrected while tapping along on her holopad. I would wager that she was digging through records Merlin was transmitting to the savant. "If you had been a mark they would have killed you first."

"Why?" Morygen raised a brow.

"Because you are weaker than he is," The Ruby Seeker said matter-of-factly. "They would have eliminated you first and then moved on to him. The other men perhaps were after you but the Fear Gorta do emphasize preventing their prey from calling for help according to the tales."

Morygen seemed struck by the dismissal, she gave me a pained look before dipping her head.

"That's a bit harsh don't you think?" She asked while her sister but a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't need to tell me that I'm weak."

"Well if Galtine is the margin for strength," Trystane snickered. "Then I am afraid that I have to confess that I am a weak man."

Lady Irvana gave him a withering look that passed for her being amused.

"Well at least the little man has some sense," she commented while sipping her tea.

"An interesting remark, My Lady," The Seeker shot back with a toothy smile. "You yourself are nothing so big."

It was a valid point, Lady Irvana had not been especially tall in the first place and my treatment had curiously enough shrunk her another inch or two do to a slight miscalculation my part.

"I do not recall mentioning height," That smile could easily cut flesh. It was the sort of knowing smile that would be seem too crone-like for a woman of Irvana Ailbe's years and it looked even more unsettling on the face of woman not yet fifteen (by Calengwag years).

"And I find myself outmaneuvered, My Lady," Trystane conceded with a bow.

"My Lady," Iseult interjected. "While it is enjoyable to torment my dimwitted companion, I would ask that you wait to torment him until a better time if you are able."

Irvana's blonde braid rustled as she turned her head to give the distracted Seeker an amused looked.

"For now," she inclined her head magnanimously.

"My thanks," Iseult nodded gratefully before looking up to Morygen. "I mean you no offense Morygen, you know that I have no patience for avoiding the truth."

My wife chuckled while scratching her cheek, "I know Iseult."

"Good," Iseult nodded before turning to me. "Galtine, I assume that you noticed the structural flaw in the augmentations?"

That confirmed my theory that Merlin had been feeding the clever Seeker raw information without even bothering to ask me.

"Yes," I nodded. "The structure of the brain combined with the way in which the senses were augmented. The strain would easily kill a subject within a few days unless some sort of narcotic compound is used to simulate sleep."

I supposed that my creator would be pleased that his work required putting a subject on the edge of death with technology from humanities height to rival.

 _Given his intellect and his lifespan he might well have been half a dozen of the leading minds during humanities Golden Age_ , I mused. _It would certainly explain how he knew which facilities to target to get the materials needed for his work, easier to reclaim an old workplace than to track down a facility._

"Did you notice something in particular?" I asked.

"Yes," the Seeker nodded while passing the holo over to me and pointing at the chemical makeup of the blood which Merlin had examined. "It is only in trace sums but I recognize some of the compounds which it had recently ingested. Orcus Platinum in particular."

That earned interested hums from the Seekers around me while I blinked in confusion.

"I am unfamiliar with the term," I sighed.

"A rare medicinal compound," Morygen chuckled awkwardly. "You have to salvage the stuff from the ruins but it is a pretty rare find outside of Wells-Like-Orchids and an uncommon find even there. You can use it to cure just about anything, some folks call it Panaceum but it preserves horribly once you crack the containers. It's hard to believe though."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Seekers _rarely_ sell Orcus Platinum," Trystane added. "The stuff can make the difference between life and death in an expedition and is too rare to think that you'll come across it again for decades if you are lucky."

"So…" I said while realizing what she meant. "Assuming that the agents do not know how to mix their medicinals on their own, they would need a handler which has the Orcus Platinum in containers?"

"Correct," Iseult surmised. "They likely do not buy them locally, it is too rare and the purchase would draw notice, even then they would not be able to maintain a stable dosage without their own supply."

"Then we need to find the source to find the assassins," I nodded. "Do these containers have a fixed form?"

"Fortunately," Iseult confirmed. I belatedly realized that this was the longest conversation I had ever had with the woman, even when she underwent her treatments she said nothing more than a few technical questions. "Unfortunately, the containers are roughly the size of a Nua-Stone and would not be too difficult to smuggle. However, there is one possible solution to the whole matter that occurs to me if Merlin is correct."

"Affirmation," My sword's voices rang. "Of course I am correct! I am not something a dimwittedly arrogant as one of those Men of Iron with their pseudo-philosophizing abominations of simple thought much less programming and-"

"I think that you are getting a touch distracted," I interrupted the construct's rant.

"Oh," Four voices stopped in realization before clearing their nonexistent throats. "Apology, I am sorry. I fear that I have some data corruption on the subject. For the context of the containers. If they are voice-coded like most of what your kind salvage from ruined facilities then I should be able to broadcast a locating frequency if a suitable amplification-device can be assembled."

"That is my thinking," Iseult confirmed.

"I really should make a point of learning these things," I sighed. For all the innate genius of a Primarch, I was simply at a disadvantage in situations that required societal knowledge that I simply lacked.

"If you would take some advice from an old man," Ector spoke hesitantly. "Do not try to know everything, most times it is better to have the help of someone who knows something than to learn it yourself. I would have been dead half-hundred times over if I did not have capable friends."

He finished that with a nostalgic smile.

"Perhaps," I inclined my head to the older man. "It sounds like we have a plan then."

"Well, that is convenient," Lord Antur said from behind me as he entered the room. "The King will be pleased to hear that."


	36. Escalation VII

It was a simple enough plan.

Jury rig an amplifier for a technology that we did not fully understand to allow a talking sword to point is to some medicinal so as to find our assassins.

...Well It does not sound as simple in those words.

I was surprised that the king agreed to the plan.

"I thought that you were merely gifted with medical matters," Iseult commented as she rummaged through the royal workshops.

"I am full of surprises," I said while reconfiguring the mechanisms of an old communication device.

"A bit more than that," Merlin commented.

I would never get used to being a Primarch. It is hard to articulate but the best closest I ever came to expressing it was to say that 'my brain is smarter than my mind'. It was odd to crack open a foreign machine and instantly understand what I needed to do.

Whether it was a mechanical or biological machine mattered little in that.

As I worked over the device with the girl and the machine it occurred to me that I was getting closer to understanding my brothers.

It was easy to be arrogant as a flawless autodidact, someone that not only learns on their own but does so without flaw and at a shocking speed.

The same joy and urge to learn that came with flesh and herbs was not in the metal and wire though. I wondered if that was my creator's subtle way of encouraging our specializations. It would be a pretty clever way to go about it, what better way to go down a path than to find everything else relatively dull.

I frowned at that thought as I clicked a cluster of drives into place and pressured one of the scraps Iseult handed me into pieces.

No… that did not work. A number of Primarchs enjoyed a great number of pursuits beyond their primary specialization.

Perturabo had almost as many hobbies as invaluable personnel he killed in a fit of temper. Magnus was insufferably proud of a number of fields beyond undermining his own cause. The Khan was nearly as good in many forms of art as he was in calligraphy. Guilliman was a master of countless fields beyond excelling at the family sport of being abrasive.

Was I projecting my own condition onto my kin?

That would be depressing, being the only Primarch that enjoyed only two things.

Because all Primarchs enjoyed warfare to some extent.

Huh…

"That is progress I suppose," I said.

"I did not hear you, what is it?" Iseult shouted from the depths of a scrap pile.

"Nothing," I shouted back while tossing away a powerless pack.

"Objection," Calyburne chimed. "You said something."

"Just an idle thought, do not mind it," I waved off the sword.

Well if admitting to a fondness for bloodshed could be called idle.

 _Eh, I blame genetics_ , I chuckled internally.

I stripped the outer casing from a viable battery and resorted to wire connections and fixing it into the case.

"So we are assuming that they use a code that you have access to," I noted while moving on to the amplification segment.

"No," Merlin said. "There is no need for concern, the code generation follows a predictable algorithm among AI programs loyal to our polity. It will take a few hours once the device is ready. You merely need to hurry."

"We are doing as well as we can!" Iseult shot back with some uncharacteristic irritation.

"True," I acknowledged while going about my artifice.

I was anticipating what would come once we had a signal of course.

…

Less than four hours later I was running down the streets of the capital.

On most days I imagined that the bustling streets of cobblestone would be lively with the traffic of half a million citizens going about their business. Day labourers looking to make their living, guildsmen arguing about the technicalities of fees with traveling pedlers and little crowds around preachers hearing the sermons of the local faith.

That was not one of those days.

Apparently the king was receiving no small amount of petitioners requesting that transhuman giants do not run across their roofs and threaten to bring the structure down over their heads.

So instead I disrupted the general human traffic while tracking the Orcus Platinum through Merlin.

Unfortunately I was sure that a giant in mail with a drawn sword running at the speed of a horse was more disruptive in the streets than on the rooftops.

"Make way," I shouted at repeated intervals to prevent a human stampede as I wove through the crowds at top speed. The mechanisms answered the signal by activating and the supplier would surely wonder why his supply was unlocking and by extension spoiling, so time was rather urgent.

"Left!" Merlin relayed as I turned on a dime on a busy street and shot into a thankfully empty alley.

The alleys were unfortunately narrow and I had to slow my step minutely to prevent my shoulders from carving the faded brick and mortar of the walls.

I felt like the victim of a world with little to no urban planning.

At points I would find myself ducking under ill thought out expansions on houses and at others I was forced to leap over piles of trash, sometimes I would be forced to do both in a feat that would qualify me for a Olympian medal. Well, it would if a number of the modifications in my body were not crimes against science and nature.

I was nearing the main harbor when Merlin stopped pointing directions, "Warning, we are almost at the targeted area."

That was all I needed to slow down my pace just a touch and to prepare for an ambush, as much as I could without sacrificing my advantage and allowing the prey to escape.

Prey… well it _was_ a hunt. Being a touch bloodthirsty is hardly a great sin when I was pursuing those who were actively working against me and even attempted to kill me.

"Are the devices moving?" I lowered my voice beyond what humans could hear.

"No," The AI. "Speculation, they might be attempting to fortify their location. Given your speed it is reasonable that they did not wish to risk moving the devices while they are active."

"They might have abandoned them," I suggested before frowning. "No, Fear Gorta are too complex to be disposable. They would not allow so many of their agents to parish by abandoning the Orcus Platinum."

"Reasonable," Merlin allowed although their was an uncharacteristic annoyance in its tone. "Observation, given the uses of the substance. It is intolerable that they would waste it on assassins."

I did not bother pointing out to the intelligence that they might prize assassins more than the general well-being of people. Merlin's gestalt was not suited for that sort of reasoning, Mendicant Onyx was meant to orchestrate fleets, the Stalwarts to understand and fight what was beyond human and Beneficent Silver was meant to nurture and administer. None of the intelligences that formed it were meant to find the reasoning behind the Fear Gorta acceptable.

I heard them around me before Merlin chimed quietly, "Warning, they are around us. Six hostiles."

"They are not attacking," I observed as I walked between a row of warehouses. Huge dilapidated buildings of steel that remained from when Wygalois had been a port. "They are not even trying to hide."

They were shadows over the distant roofs, allowing themselves to be seen by the sun and with distantly audible steps where they had not made so much sound before.

"I wonder if they are trying to lure me," I mused. "They do not strike me as particularly reckless creatures and one of them _knows_ what fighting me is like."

I licked my lips in thought at that.

There were two possibilities and either was certainly possible.

The first option was simple, it was indeed a trap. It seemed horribly unlikely but powerful people often had a difficulty in admitting that they were outmatched and it was possible that I was overestimating the creatures.

Option two however, there was potential in option two.

I came to a stop at the entrance to a particularly shabby warehouse, three stories of weathered and oxidized metal that looked one strong wind away from doom.

Even from behind the structure I could tell that I was in the worst part of the docks. The stink of the city was much worse here to the point where it transcended being a mortal stink to the odor of pure human misery.

"Lovely place," I chuckled sourly as I opened one of the old back doors and walked inside.

The vast warehouse was largely empty and the light poured in though dozens of windows.

Six windows however were occupied by the hunched form of a Fear Gorta suspending themselves against the frame.

At the center of the room was a small stack of crates and a single, robed figure.

"I do wish that you would have given us a more formal notice of your visit," It said with a high pitched and child-like voice. It was also short, I idly guessed that it was perhaps a quarter past a meter if that. My senses idly registered the scents of medical substances, voice and hormones to pierce its attempt at disguise by noting sex, age, health and so on.

"I do believe that I gave you plenty of warning," I offered politely as I walked forward. I did not need to look up to see the eyes of the Fear Gorta following me. "I sent a signal, did I not."

The boy's laugh was a ringing thing.

"I suppose you did at that," He allowed.

"You must be very confident in your assassins' abilities," I noted as I neared it.

I could smell his fear in the air of course (an incredibly strange thing to be able to do) but the boy kept his composure flawlessly.

"I am afraid that you overestimate us," The boy's laugh reminded me of pealing bells. "We are well aware that we have found our match."

"A last stand then?" I stopped a few meters from him and rested Calyburne over my shoulder.

"Again," The boy spread his hands to his sides in a shrug. "I am afraid that you overestimate us. Our trade is that of night, we are no warriors, Oathmaster."

I raised a brow at the use of my unconfirmed title.

The Fear Gorta were tensed but did not seem to be making a move to attack.

 _Option two it is_ , I smiled slightly. "You wish to talk then?"

"Very much so," the boy laughed awkwardly. "We are prideful in our work but we were misinformed in this case."

 _There's an understatement_ , if the profession had any legal standing I would be encouraging them to sue their contractors for misinformation.

"I do not mind your attack very much," I shrugged before letting my annoyance drip into my tone. "On _me_. But you also conspired to kill a supporter of mine _and_ the master of the Silver."

And the other men wounded my wife, but I did not mention that part of my grievance. Anger aside, I was no fool and the Fear Gorta did not seem the type to hire help.

"And we have done neither!" The boy assured me while taking a step forward. "If the Guildmaster was attacked, then I would assume that our employer has hired additional aid again but I ensured that our own role was stalled when the misunderstanding came to my attention."

Well that was interesting, also unconfirmed.

"Breaking a contract," I tilted my head. "That cannot be good for business."

"Neither are unexpected losses," the boy offered. "And my employee believes that continued conflict with you can only lead to further unpleasantness for both sides."

"And now you are threatening me," I frowned.

"I merely state fact," the boy shook his hands. "I have no doubt that you would emerge triumphant but I like to think that we would stand to at least inflict some injury around you. You must allow our order to retain _some_ professional pride. It is a key matter in our field."

I ground my teeth in thought, _They really are lucky that I am not my brothers._

"So you want to bargain for ceasing our little conflict?" I asked.

"Just so," He snapped his fingers in some unfamiliar hand sign. "Why make a foe when you can make a friend, yes?"

Despite myself I smiled slightly.

"Very well then," I nodded. "Talk."


	37. Escalation VIII

Morygen excelled at making me nervous.

"You did what?" Morygen asked blankly as I scratched the back of my head.

I scanned the chamber again nervously, Merlin had assured me that there were no listening devices and I could not spot one either. Morygen looked up to me for another moment with an uncharacteristically blank expression before falling back into one of our chamber's chairs.

"You lied to them," she repeated in High Gothic. "To the council, to the _king!_ Even to our friends and my uncle."

"It is a temporary thing," I held up my hands defensively. "I plan to speak to the king and your uncle later."

Morygen rested her face in her hands and let out a breath, "Do you have any idea how stupid that is?"

"If you do not let me explain then I suppose that it would sound stupid," I crossed my arms.

"Sorry," She looked up with a slight smile. "I guess I have no leg to stand on in honesty, do I?"

"Don't worry," I kneeled. "I will never lie to you. Yes, I did not actually kill the Fear Gorta but I had good reason to do so."

In retrospect, one might argue that I should have kept the information to myself but I would never do so at any rate. I did not lie to Morygen.

And this in particular was a secret which I could not conceal from her.

"I sure hope so," Morygen frowned. "Why did the warehouse collapse then?"

"Evidence removal," I offered with a sheepishly.

"But the warehouse owner…" Morygen started to scratch her cheek with a worried look.

"They own it- _owned_ it I suppose," That her first concern had been damaging someone else's property brought an earnest smile to my face. "They moved to another facility they own in the city."

"That's good," Morygen chuckled distantly. "So… you cooperated with the Fear Gorta and helped them fake their deaths… and the head?"

"They are… not very selective about the bodies of the deceased as long as their secrets and memory cores are destroyed," I explained. I had been offered a ruined head casing to bring back as proof of my success.

"And why didn't you kill them," She smiled. "I love you but mercy is not your strong suit."

That… that was not how I hoped to hear those particular words for the first time.

"They had no interest in continuing our conflict. They were actually quite reasonable," I could respect people that handled their work professionally, even if I did not approve of the work itself.

"The assassins," She gave me a disbelieving look. "The ones that tried to _kill_ you. They were reasonable."

"They were affiliated with the killers that tried to kill you," I explained. The only one they tried to kill was me which meant that I had little reason to hold a grudge, the contract had not seemed forged as near as I could tell. "I will of course find and kill those fools later, which was why I spared them in part."

Morygen held my look for a moment before letting out an exasperated laugh, "Of course that's how you would reason it. So you spared them in exchange for information."

"And some other services," Her eyes immediately narrowed at that.

"Services," Morygen repeated. "You're not usually this evasive. What exactly did you agree to?"

I was not sure how I would say it.

"They were familiar with my reputation as a healer," I explained.

 _If we had paid equal attention to the rumors we might have avoided this unpleasantness_ , the emissary had said.

Morygen gave me a look, "So they bribed you with knowledge."

I reached over to take one of her hands into my own, "In part, but they are offering an arrangement Morygen and you _know_ we will need allies of all sorts if the children are to are to change this world."

She scratched her chin in thought, "So what are you offering?"

"Medical assistance," I explained. "Recovery of certain Treasures, not ending their order and of course, relative secrecy."

"And what exactly are they offering," She asked patiently. She would not challenge my choice, I could already tell as much from the way that she looked at me.

She also did not completely approve.

But my Morygen was an opportunist at her core and she trusted me to find value in the bargain.

If she accepted that…

"Obviously they will cancel the contract," I shrugged. "More importantly, they will refuse to accept any contract on any ally that does not choose to work against them."

"That's just self-preservation," Morygen smiled.

Fair.

"Also," I nodded. "They are willing to exchange services on a one to one ratio as well."

 _We do more than assassination!_ The emissary had explained. _Our agents are fine trackers, protections specialists and we even accel at procurement._

 _I never said that I object to hiring assassins_ , I had responded.

Morygen looked to the small bar to our right, "I think that I'll need a drink to make it through this."

I nodded in acquiescence and let go of her hand. I walked over to the collection of drinks and set about pouring the whiskey into a short goblet.

"You think that I mind your deal?" She asked.

And there it was.

Morygen's father had been assassinated after all.

Hiding an allied assassin order from her? That would be unforgivable.

"Which is why I mentioned it to you," I offered her the drink.

She accepted it with a nod and kicked back the entire cup.

"You worry too much," she smiled thinly. "What else are they giving you?"

"The names of the contractors and any who try to do the same in the future," I said.

"You're really trusting them," Morygen eyed the empty cup.

"Correction!" Merlin chimed. "We secured sub-constructs on to all present in the meeting. We can track them down should they prove treacherous."

"Which they might," I conceded.

"Shame that they don't have debter's coins," She looked up at me again. "Unless they gave you some other collateral."

"They did," I nodded while pulling a document from one of my satchels and handing it to her.

"What is this?" She asked.

"Collateral," I smiled and looked at the recipe for the stabilizing agent of the Fear Gorta.

…

"Well that is certainly something," Trystane laughed at my words.

Iseult seemed far more interested, "It seems like a wise move."

"You allied with the Fear Gorta," The elder Morygen shook her head. "Of course you did."

"My thoughts exactly," My wife chuckled.

We had gathered the three into our room and they took to my news… well they took as well as could be expected.

But I had no intention of hiding my alliances with my makeshift circle, which was composed of five figures sitting around the room.

Morygen the elder, the politician.

Trystane, the swordsman.

Iseult, the savant.

Merlin, the AI.

Morygen, my mate.

Trystane and Iseult were simple creatures, they had simple views and simple objectives. One respected knowledge and the other sought to do right by his allies, they were highly unlikely to turn on me.

Morygen the elder was loyal. Both to her cause and to me personally.

My wife and my blade were beyond question at any rate.

The fact that all owed their lives to me to some extent or another was also a point in their favor.

"I approve of it," Trystane gave me a half-smile. "No use in throwing away what you can use."

"I agree," Iseult was less interested in the discussion and more in exchanging the tracking data on her holo.

"I would council caution, Oathmaster," Morygen the elder passed a hand over her short-trimmed ebon hair. "It's true that the Fear Gorta are unrivaled but if the tie is revealed…"

"Would anyone believe it?" I asked. "Their reputation seems to be almost mythologized. Would they even believe it."

"That depends on the one hearing it and the one saying it," Her cold eyes eyed the paper on the table detailing the terms of the deal. "It is a useful arrangement but it is dangerous, forgive me if I speak the obvious."

"It is a fair point," I nodded. "And I hope to arrange enough mutual contingencies to make betrayal in neither sides interest."

"Alright," My wife smiled. "So, who started calling for your heads?"

"The oathmasters," I smiled.

"Aed and Dobur?" The Oathmaster frowned at the accusation against her peers.

"Dobur placed the order," I clarified. "But the Fear Gorta apparently make a habit f watching their employers. Dobur has been in contact with at least three other Oathmasters and one of the foreign Sect-Masters."

It was either flattering or disturbing that such a wide-ranging action was being undertaken against me if the Fear Gorta were telling the truth.

"I am genuinely surprised that the Ruby were not on that list," Trystane mused.

"I was actually getting to the fact that their payment was coming from the Republic," I smiled bitterly. "One would think that a touch more gratitude would be in order for cleansing the White Forest."

"Then you misunderstand them," The elder Morygen gave me an equally bitter look and tired, tired from years of defending her cause. "They are likely more _resentful_ of you for depriving them from exclusive access to the Treasures of the Forest than grateful."

That was a depressing thought.

And realistic.

Assuming politics from a realist standpoint, one accepted politics as a zero-sum game.

Ironically enough, it was a political ideology that I myself had made my living from in a previous life.

That was thing however.

 _My perspective is flawed_ , I concluded. _I still see this world as a unit acting in an immensely hostile and unpredictable galaxy. They do not see that, they only see their world. Their continent, their Guild. It is easy to blame their traditions but that is illogical, people are influenced by their beliefs but those beliefs tend to 'happen' to eventually match their ambitions._

"I understand that," I allowed while looking to them and smiling. "I had not thought of it like that, it is a relief then."

"A relief?" My wife laughed. "How so?"

"It makes them smaller, more predictable," It was embarrassing actually. The more I understood the world, the smaller and more influenceable it became.

"You are smiling the way you do when you were fighting that big Voidspawn," Morygen shook her head. "I take it that you have a plan then?"

"Of sorts," I explained. "More like I understand the proper methodology now."

My objectives aligned neatly in my mind as I thought about it.

Step One: Summit.

Undermine and discredit opposing factions while securing my rank. Reveal their links to assassins and confirm my own merits.

Step Two: The King's Support.

Gaerys was already impressed by my abilities, once he was treated I would leverage the risks of the pesky Winter Court and the risk of the destabilizing Authorities.

Step Three: Secure Alliance with Emerald.

Leverage the risks, the prize and the southern threat.

On and on the plans that I had been gathering for years crystalized into a concise course of action as I accepted how similar this world was to my own.

They did not understand the magnitude of what the world beyond the sky was and left to their own devices.

I was not sure which part of me arrived at the final conclusion.

 _They need guidance_ , I mused. _What is to stop the world beyond the sky from consuming them I am not guiding them?_

I had already taken the responsibility of saving the world from felling itself by repairing the generators.

 _And doing that threatens to destabilize their system_ , I noted. _I would be dooming them to chaos of a different sort if I purified the ruins without thinking of what comes after._

"I can't tell if I like that smile or not," My wife chuckled while the other looked at the feral smile on my lips.

 _Eh, blame genetics._


	38. Escalation IX

"You are fidgeting," I smiled at my wife as she adjusted her formal dress. A beautiful composition of yellow silk overlaid by dozens of long knotwork patterns running up the flowing dress interwoven with silver threads. Her red mane was pulled back into a bun held by a sun-like headpiece. The Tiara-pin was matched by a necklace of opals and bands on gems running over her girdle and sleeves.

It was the dress for a lady of court and my wife wore it as if she was born to it, only my eyes saw the minute fidgeting in her fingers and the irregular flicker in her green eyes.

"I am," she whispered back in High Gothic while passing a hand over the silver markings under her eyes. Accents were a funny thing, Morygen spoke High Gothic with a formality utterly absent from her native tongue. "And you are not making it better by pointing it out."

"Perhaps," I shot her back a teasing smile and acted to reassure her.

Which got me a slap on the rear and an amused frown.

"It's only fun when _I_ do it," She laughed before looking me up and down. "That aside, I think you look fit for court."

"With how much we spent on a tailor," I muttered as I inspected my own garb.

It amounted to a tunic scaled up to my size in the Ailbe colors. My belt was a heavy thing of gold-threaded knotwork and interwoven chains of gold. High-knitted sandals of Ur-Bear leather (another of the horrifying megafauna of the world) and numerous bands running up my arms and rounding my neck. The worst of it had been piercing the skin of my ears quickly enough to get the silver rings into place before the skin healed. It was all topped off by the knot my hair was pulled up into and bound by a Sun-shaped broach.

I felt like a fool.

"I hope that I do not look anywhere near as ridiculous as I feel," I admitted.

The outfit had cost a damned fortune, Morygen wore gems of her house and her dress had been weaved as tribute for her House. Every ornament that I wore had to be hand-crafted to suit my size.

Morygen laughed and rested her head on my stomach, "You're as handsome as always."

I snorted.

"Well, I suppose that it is not every day that one receives indorsement from a king," I admitted.

"Not _every_ day," Morygen said theatrically as she adjusted my belt. "Although I think that you might have taken a bit too much off the king don't you think?"

"In fairness," I smiled. "It is not a perfect process and he did tell me to lean towards the side of caution."

The king now looked two of that world's years younger than the crown prince and was more than a little pleased with my success in the endeavor.

"And now you will have some royal backing at the summit," She winked mischievously.

"As it happens," I nodded.

The Guildmaster had managed to arrive unharmed some weeks past despite a tragic attack on his caravan. They claimed that they would have been felled by the suspiciously well-armed 'bandits' were it not for the miraculous aid of a pair of shadowy figures that carved through the bandit ranks like a damned lawnmower.

I was rather pleased that the Fear Gorta were proving a reliable ally.

The remaining Oathmasters and Sect-Masters would be arriving in the coming weeks for the summit.

 _And then I will make my move_ , I smiled.

"Try to keep your 'I'm going to rule the world' smile hidden during court," she poked at my side.

"I can only promise to try," I laughed.

There was a strange relief in admitting your nature to yourself.

I was a Primarch and a Primarch was a being that conquered their world unless they had a sizeable portion of their brain removed.

I had not intention of being a tyrant and was already formulating ways of avoiding it but even then, I had to count myself fortunate.

I had been lucky, I had landed on a world that needed to be conquered.

It was only paying lip-service to my morals, but it was more than I had thought I would get.

"Your plan is mad," she shook her head. "Knowing your luck, it'll work but it is still mad."

"Madness is relative," I teased.

"Something that you make a fine effort to remind me of daily," She countered.

"And I am relatively sane compared to my brothers," I pointed out.

She gave me a withering look, "I'll believe they are all you say when I see them, I'll not believe in horned nipples until I see them with my own eyes."

"Horned nipples, a shield on a backpack, chains, sleeveless void armor, entire human torsos," I listed off. "You will see every possible combination of lunacy."

"Horrifying," Morygen said in mock aggrievement. "And here I was thinking that you'd need a warning about how eccentric the court can get with court dress."

"And my brothers are sane compared to some of the wonders that you will see almost literally littering the heavens," I continued with genuine mirth making me smile at the mild horror on Morygen's face.

"Well it's a good thing that I'm open to new experiences," She shook her head while reaching handing me Calyburne in it's new silver-lined scabbard and tying it to my belt.

"Speaking of new experiences," I continued. "You really should walk me through those rituals again so that I can avoid making a fool of myself."

"You have a perfect memory," She raised a brow.

"True," I acknowledged. "But practice _does_ make perfect, does it not?"

She stared at me cautiously for a moment before adopting a look of mock outrage, "You just think that I look funny when I do the rituals!"

Dress or not, Morygen reacted to my amused confirmation in a decidedly unladylike manner.

By which I mean that she leapt up to slap me without force.

She landed in my arms and dropped her outrage in favor of laughter.

"You really need to hurry up and make me taller," She laughed. "I'm too damned short for this!"

…

I had long since discovered that castle Wygalois was a place of insane decorative standards.

Or at least that had been my impression until I entered the main halls leading to the throne room.

The halls were covered in long murals to dedicated to the Immram, the Final Knight of Gwyar.

A stylized giant in steel plate fighting all sorts of great beasts and armies of small men with swings of his blade and conjuring lightning from his outstretched hands. Other symbols were suns, outstretched hands reaching towards the heavens and winged lions among countless other variants which I supposed were meant to represent the nobility of the kingdom from the way in which they ended merged to the form of the giant.

The colors were etched into steel and stone alike and colored by dyed steels and corded patterns of cloth.

Somehow the mass of different materials so painstakingly integrated made it more grandiose as its sagas stretched deeper into the fortress, the knight becoming more grand with each tale as we proceeded down the halls.

House Ailbe marched down the hall in ceremonial garb while crowds of lesser nobility lined the halls to either side of us, the vassals of our house arranged from eldest sworn to the more recent conquests. Each house head held a tall banner embroidered with their crest, great banners swaying under the light cast by great crystalline chandeliers which relayed light through some Treasure which I did not recognize.

Our delegation was led by Lord Antur. The rejuvenated man carried himself well in a garb which outshone every other regalia present, silks over an ancient suit of burnished adamantium said to have been worn by the ancient knights of the Ailbe. On his brow he wore a circlet of overlapping sunbursts made from red gold and embedded with great gems of polished topaz and cut rubies. In his ringed hands he carried a banner twice his height made from two staves of intertwined gold and bronze which forked off at their apex to hold onto the ancient banner of the house.

Behind him came his wife in a gown of red and bronze ringed with white to represent her house of birth and overlain with a latticework of bronze and a thin circlet of diamond and topaz. Thin chains of white gold ran down the latticework and bound into a thin knotwork belt. The entire piece had been commissioned to emphasize her rejuvenated form save for the gold dust trailing her eyes to symbolize a matron. The woman took entirely too much joy in her children to disguise place as a mother despite once more resembling a maid.

I marched along with my wife behind them as their nearest sworn kin, their daughters and sons kneeling elsewhere in the castle for they were sworn to other houses and their heir still away seeing to some enterprise.

Then Ymer and her cousins in complex pieces and the white eye-marks of blossoming youths and behind them the highest ranking members of the household in pieces worn by a hundred generations of predecessors.

I found myself liking the fondness for patterns and meanings behind everything that the people of Gwyar did. House sigils to show allegiance, knot works for strength, lattices for mental strength, chains for duty, armor for honor, gems for virtues and a hundred different meanings. One could literally write a reasonably sized encyclopedia for every hidden purpose for the dress and even the meanest beggar tried to incorporate some meaning into his garb even if it was a crude knotwork belt of rags.

I felt horribly out of place with my freshly made jewels and somewhat excessive ornamentation given my relative lack of status. It hardly made me more comfortable that something inside me was thoroughly aware of how I was outshining everyone present due to my sheer scale.

Each delegation rose as we passed and join in our progression until we reached the gates of the throne room at the head of a small army of nobles. None were allowed to speak in these hallowed halls except by royal leave so the army matched in a cacophony of clinking boots, swaying cloth, ringing chains and sandaled step without a single voice.

Even the cacophony was ordered, Morygen had taught me the movement pattern for the great ritual which we were undergoing. How my own steps and movements could add to the song of the march which had been painfully orchestrated for weeks in advance.

The throne room was at the exact heart of the fortress and the gate stood before a crossroads where each of the five chief lords stood at the head of their own delegation.

I idly listed off each of the five houses but they paled before the monstrosity which was the door to the throne room proper.

The titan-sized double gates were a stylized tale of the kingdom's foundation.

The bottom of the doorway showed hundreds if not thousands (one thousand, four hundred and seventy-two but a primarch's mind can be distractingly pedantic) of nondescript figures warring on each other with the stylized rise and fall of cities around them. However, the warring figures waned and then vanished towards the center of the frame from where six great knights of gold and silver arose from what I gathered was a relief of Wygalois and marched upward in a v-like pattern over the gate. Each literal knight was mid-strike bringing down great swords, lances and hammers upon the warring masses below, I idly noted that I recognized the Ailbe sun on one of the stylized breastplates.

Their cloak were caught upwards from the strength of their blows and a miniature narrative for each of the knights drifted up the gate. Some fought armies, others great beasts and one even fought a great demon, but they all culminated the same way.

Five knights swore their oaths before the one whose legend rose the highest and raised his blade to the apex of the gate.

 _Quite the door_ , I mused as ancient mechanisms ground to life and granted us admission.


	39. Escalation X

The throne room managed the impressive feat of making the gate look subtle and constrained.

It was a spherical chamber sized to house a warlord titan with ample space left over, the ceiling was lined with a great interplay of house symbols and suspended by five knights of enormous scale taking the role of a medieval atlas. The processions filed off to the fields of stands flanking the chief walkway towards the throne, their stands were separated from the hundred of already filled stands which were consumed by tens of thousands of knights, merchants, dignitaries and guildsmen.

The room gave a good idea of how massive Gwyar was due to both territorial extent and the anachronisms that made it the superior of a truly medieval world. Tens of millions dwelled in the kingdom and their elite were represented here.

The four other great houses split off from the Ailbe to assume their places on four of the five elevated plinths at the foot of each knight.

All of this took considerable time given the sheer scale of the room and throughout the whole affair, the Ailbe continued their solitary march towards the throne itself.

The entire room looked at the thrones, each colossi dipped its head towards it, each stand looked to it and the patterns and murals which lined the dome all seemed to look to it in subservience.

The throne room had one clear message in its design.

'One of us is the king and it is not you.'

The throne itself was two sections.

The king sat at the apex of at curved walkway which housed a dozen lesser seats, held by his queen, children and councilors. The throne's rise was covered in reliefs of hundreds of house sigils which fed into his tall seat from which sprouted five swords longer than the tallest man. Flanking the throne were four of the great war robots of the royal house, each of the giant machines wore a mantle of interwoven knotworks and metallic chains over their painted hulls.

That was the lesser of the two parts of the throne.

Dominating that throne was the seat of a god, a great work of white marble and black basalt more suited to Zeus than a machine. From the great seat sprouted two stone wings which stretched out to embrace the entirety of the chamber in its stone feathers over which the rest of the various ornaments were superimposed. From the core of these wings sprouted two massive screen which showed the king's visage surveying the room with his calm visage.

But that all paled compared to the giant that sat like a long-fallen king lounging on its throne and surveying the world before it.

I… I did not recognize the model of the Immram.

Great armoured feet were more human in profile and proportion than a conventional knight, greaves painted a startling and lined with reliefs until they disappearing beneath a great plated skirt. Its heavy gauntlets each finishing in perfect imitations of human hands with rounded pauldrons lined with the five crests of the great lords. The most recognizable part of its form was the hunch of its torso and the knightly visage of its warmask. Under each gauntlet were underslung cannons of unfamiliar profile and from its great back rose the missile launchers the size of a large carriage. On its lap was a sword of familiar white steel that gave a keening quality as we approached.

I could all but feel Calyburne hum in interest as we approached in silence.

It was a knight.

But it was a knight of a completely different profile, a baroque giant scaled more closely to place between a warhound or a reaver titan than to one of its cousins among the imperium.

Its nature was apparent to me as I neared it.

It was a thing of this world, a paladin born to match the foulest blade of hell.

 _I think there are members of the Mechanicum that would start a holy war over making this room look more opulent in praise to the thing_ , I mused internally.

It struck me as mildly horrifying that the Treasures of this world could not only produce the thing but that they had been sufficient to fell its five brothers.

We fell to our knees as we arrived at the end of the room and waited as there as the last of the sounds died out.

The silence that echoed the room was absolute, the cyclopean structure might as well be uninhabited save for the sounds of thousands of distinct heartbeats.

The quiet held court for precisely Six minutes, then Seven, then Eight, then Nine.

Finally, once the silence had been held for the thirty-minute span, two old men which shared the thrones beneath the queen and spoke into their hidden beads so that the sound could echo across the chamber.

"Six for the Goat, Seven for the Slug, Eight for the Horse and Nine for the Peacock," They spoke in unison as their faces were projected across the great wings of the throne. "Let our silence be broken and let the Void hear that we yet live. May the gods protect us and empower us against the evil which seeks to creep forth from the bones of our ancestors. May the Ten Guardians bless us to continue forward and may the One-Who-Is-All guide our swords in the name of the Holy and the Just! This we pray!"

"This we pray," Responded the entirety of the room.

The theology of the Faith, the dominant religion on Hiber'Cale was a confusing mix of Abrahamic, Shinto and Greco-Roman beliefs which I maintain could induce a fatal migraine to try to understand but I aped it fairly well. It was after all a religion with 'screw chaos' as their founding principle so I could respect that much, the fact that the entire population was more or less deafened to anything short of picking up a Daemon Weapon was an added bonus in my own opinion.

I doubted that my creator would mind, if he did I already had a thesis laying around as to how my own brothers were flouting the Truth on their homeworlds (with modular segments depending on the order in which I was found) just in case. It was still rather imperfect but I had not found the time to hire a monk to tutor me.

The king rose while I went over my practical spiritual concerns and regarded the room.

He did not look a day over twenty-four in Terran years as he smiled at the masses and stretched out his arms.

"My leal friends!" He greeted. "It is as if yesterday that I ascended to the throne of our great kingdom and look at me now! Clearly ruling truly does age one!"

I could hear both the genuine and the forced laughter in the audience at the king's jibe.

"I must thank the gods my friends!" He proceeded. "For I have been blessed with ruling in a truly wonderous era, one which I only wish that our own mothers and fathers might have lived to see!"

He wielded the crowd's mood like a conductor, building them up to a high before beginning to twist them to his desired course.

"Two years of good harvest! Three years of peace! Three years of our boys and girls looking to the skies without fear of Mountain Dragons or the forests without fear Ur-Beasts! We must count our blessings for such alone!" He continued.

 _I need to make a point of not mentioning that to the Imperium if I can help it_ , I noted mentally. _'Deathworld' has a much worse connotation than 'Feudal World'. It is hardly their business if we have elephant-sized wolves, bears that are best engaged with tactical warheads and actual dragons._

"But there is more, my dear friends," King Gaerys' smile widened. "For the gods have blessed us with a champion of a singular nature! A new Galtine, another Lord of Dawn!"

And that answers the question of the king's view on the Children.

My hearts skipped a beat.

He was going off script.

'This guy is a good doctor, support him'. That was supposed to be it in the broad strokes!

"Lord Antur!" He pointed down to the kneeling Lord of Ailbe as the projectors switched to our kneeling party. "Raise your head, lord of one of my dearest subject. You have taken into your house this new Galtine!"

To his credit, Lord Antur looked up with every drop of dignity one would expect of a high lord.

"I am honored by your words, Your Grace. My house has indeed been blessed so," the old man threw me under the bus.

"It is the work of the gods," The twin priests spoke as one. "They have returned our legend to once and for all purge Four Pillars of the Void from the world."

I was getting the distinct impression that my plans were about to begin moving at a breakneck speed.

"This man, this lord among the Seekers," The king pointed to the contingent of Seekers in the crowds (who were by now almost as pale as their silver tabards save for those who styled themselves my 'knights'). "Has done as the rumors suggest! My own men have seen the City-Like-Woods! The blight which has long harbored the evils of the Void in our land! It is no more my friends! For this man led an army of brave souls into its depths and called forth one the Guardians to serve at his side and cut out the voids black heart!"

My eyes drifted accusingly down to my sword.

Hiring a theological tutor had just skipped to first place on my list.

 _He really needs to stop_ , I thought with mild panic. _This is drifting farther away from support and more into begging for every other player to come and take a literal stab at me._

I should have seen it coming in retrospect, Gaerys was notable for being a devote follower of the Faith as well as for being a capable administrator.

"I once shared your concern over his strength!" The king continued with a theatrical show of shame and anger. "I thought these tales some child's sweet whispers! Yet not a night in my home and this Seeker engaged with the most feared killers of all! Three! Three of the mighty Fear Gorta snuck into the heart of great Wygalois and were struck down, mere minutes from where my sweet queen slept from where your heir slept!"

Their were shouts and gasps as one of the councilors lifted the shattered head to the cameras and images of the ruins apartments flashed onto the screen.

The crowd seemed entirely too captivated in the exaggerated retelling for my taste and I felt entirely too many eyes drilling into me.

 _I have acidic spit!_ I recalled. _Perhaps I might be able to spit a hole into the floor and escape through it!_

My plan had been to conquer the world through subtlety, as some impressive but seemingly unimportant Oathmaster who swayed things from the shadows.

"And furthermore! He is a healer, let the visage granted to both myself and my dear queen stand testament to that fact," The king continued. "This and more can be said of Galtine of the House Ailbe. This is why I call you today my dearest of friends and subjects. For the Purifier of the White Forest stands wronged!"

He shook his head with emphasized force, letting his augmentations and their chains catch with his hair to emphasize his distress.

"Wronged, for we do nothing! The gods call on us to strike the Void but others squabble! We are given the means to seals the gates of hell and our neighbours try to silence he who would guide us! For Seekers of other lands are not lauded as tradition demands! But broken and subsumed to base greed!" He concluded.

In retrospect, telling him in private about the Fear Gorta and who hired them might have been a poor idea.

Then the very ground of the chamber began to shake as I realized how seriously the king had been won to the idea.

The king straightened himself as the horn-like implants began to shine on the screens and the Immram took hold of its sword and straightened up.

"But we are not so shameful," He thundered to the crowd's roaring approval. "We are Gwyar! We will stand against the Void alongside this Galtine! We remember the words of the first to stand against the evil incarnate!"

The king held up his hand as the Immram brandished the titan-sized Moraltach.

"We bring the dawn!" He shouted.

"The dawn! The dawn! The dawn!" The crowd shouted back.

I desperately wanted to facepalm.


	40. Fifteen Years of War and Change

**After Arrival.**

0.5 AA: Purification of City-Like-Woods. 

1 AA: Galtine Ailbe is formally anointed Oathmaster of the Silver. Night of Fear.

2 AA: Great Northern Alliance Treaty signed between Gwyar and Marhaus. Silver and Emerald build the first incarnation of the Great Hearth. First War of Terror.

3 AA: First Seeker War.

4 AA: Galtine the Retaliator recognized as Guildmaster of the Silver. Purgation of Wells-Like Orchids.

5 AA: Thousand Bloom Uprising.

6 AA: Destruction of the Ember-Like-Spires.

7 AA: Second War of Terror. Unification of Hiber'Cale. Spring Court of Hiber'Cale Formed.

8 AA: Dawn of Betrayals, Birth of Walwen Ailbe. First of the Great Expeditions. Wall-Like-Eternity cleansed.

9 AA: Year of Withering. Construction of the second Great Hearth over the ruins of the Ember-Like-Spires.

10 AA: War of Crimson Serpents. Conquest of Star-Point Continents. Treaty of the Three and Three.

11 AA: Tomb of Kings is revived. Fall of the Immram.

12 AA: Binding of the Guilds, Galtine chosen as Grandmaster of Guilds.

13 AA: Year of the Long Spring. Fall of the Three.

14 AA: Reclamation of the Scarred Lady, all Sectors deemed restored.

15 AA: Descent of the Winged Cities.

EDIT: Calengwag time, it is always Calengwag time.


	41. Legion I

"So, it's finally happening?" Morygen asked at my side as I watched the sky blaze with hundreds of meteors.

"It was going to happen eventually," I shrugged. "He is not the type to waste a priceless tool."

We stood at the end of ten by six miles of paved cement at the foot of what would become my Fortress Monastery. The great mountain of steel had been forged from the ruins of the Ember-Like-Spires into a fortress to represent both the binding of the guilds into a single force and the renewal of Calengwag.

"Shame this father of yours did not arrive last year," Trystane commented at to my other side in his red tabard and newly forged power armor, young save for his eyes. "Would have made the Moonfall easier."

"This is for the best," I admitted. "He gives more leeway to the ones that successfully conquer their worlds."

"Such an ugly term," Morien of the Pearl commented with his guttural Eastern accent. "Conquest. I do not think I like it."

"You will adjust!" Trystane clasped his friend's shoulder and pointed up to the heavens. "Beyond the sky is the rest of man and the true Void. We are needed my friend, it is why we all agreed to this!"

I swallowed the bile that threatened to rise as I heard him sound so optimistic, the years had been filled with mistakes. Trystane had paid more than most for my mistakes.

All the guildmasters which surrounded me were young, their bodies regressed to and kept at seven Calengwag years to prepare them for their fate.

"You said that it was 'Unification," Morien shook his head. "That word tastes much better. Honey on the lips rather than vinegar."

Dinada sneered at their squabble, "It does not matter, they come and we are sworn. The question is only whether they will mesh with us or seek to overwhelm us."

"Do continue squabbling," The emissary poked another sweetmeat into his mouth. "It is not often that I enjoy such spectacle."

Morygen shook her head while fingering her silver pendant and eyeing the crowds of nobles lining either side of the field. Beyond them were thousands of warriors from every kingdom and guild that Calengwag could offer and beyond them throngs of others in stands that reached two hundred feet in the air with huge holo-screens broadcasting the scene both to them and to hundreds of stadiums around our world.

Morygen was not looking at them, her eyes were for the Ailbe banner and the family around it.

"I miss her to," I whispered delicately.

"It's not that," she sighed as she looked to one of the boys kneeling behind his elders.

"We have been through this," I tried to reassure her. "I will not take him."

"We raised him," She frowned. "We either deny him his rightful place or risk his life."

She had a point, the boy was no Voidbane but he was already able to match Trystane with a sword which no other mortal I knew could boast.

"I will think of something," I assured her. "If we are not bombed to death by a fleet of angry Imperials."

Which was a possibility even if Merlin assured me that the Authority generators would help with that.

The meteors broke their decent and began to float in the sky around us like a school of steel sea predators which eclipsed the sun as they passed.

One ship in particular hung low and reflected gold around its fringes.

"It's really named after a horse?" Morygen asked with mischief.

"To be fair," I chuckled quietly. "He _really_ loved that horse. More than he will ever love any of us if I have the right of it."

"Well that's cheerful," Morygen grinned.

"In grim dark future, there is only cheer," I smiled. "It does not have quite the ring to it."

"If it is cheerful then I will personally break every in ring the galaxy," My wife countered.

"Hold on to that thought," I chuckled as the dozens of other shadows split from the great shadow and came down with an impressive speed.

Long winged VTOL craft of surprising elegance swam in neat circles that made our own aircraft seem like clumsy constructs in comparison before turning to land on the other end of the field from our own stands in a neat half-circle.

They craft echoed their dying engines as five ramps fell in perfect coordination down onto the paved earth and disgorged five perfect formations marching in flawless unison.

It was the first time I ever saw an Astartes, a Space Marine.

They were giants in freshly-polished ceramite plate, bolters held in parade march and red visors looking forwards as they marched towards us. They had a deftness to their movements that no human could rival along with a sheer physicality that radiated out from them and seemed to almost overwhelm the masses as they formed the outer flanks of the advancing arrowheads.

I saw a number of banners held aloft by the two advancing companies, telling of victories and battles which I had no context for. Their armor was still the unpainted grey of the First Founding and littered with marks of honor which I understood no better than the banners.

I did understand one thing.

I understood the marking on their shoulders.

II

Either coincidence or I was the Second among my brothers.

Between the flanking companies came two formations of human women numbering sixty.

Unblinking eyes starred out from heads shaven save for a crimson topknot which swayed in the wind as they marched with swords, bolters and flamers held close. Their armor was more finely made than that borne by the Astartes and they held their heads up almost as if in a challenge to the world around them.

I had been expecting my creator to bring them, his Null-Maidens. The Sisters of Silence.

Between the Sisters marched twenty beings which towered over the Astartes the way they towered over humans. Each was clad in a gold that put the finest jewels in the audience to shame, all swathed in crimson cloths. They bore spears and standards of breathtaking make and wore conical helmets invoking the image of great eagles in flight.

Frankly they made almost everyone else present looking like paupers in comparison.

But no one was looking at them.

At the lead were four figures.

One was an Astartes nearly the height of a custodian with the numeral II etched on his breastplate and a sword at his hip.

Another towered over the Custodians in armor and arms even finer than that of his brothers, his head looking at the world with the perfect fusion of warrior, scholar and courtier.

A woman with of the Sisters with armor that would draw tearsfrom artisans and a sword at her back nearly her height.

No one looked to them either.

They only saw _him_.

He walked a few paces ahead of the contingent.

He wore no armor save for a simple sheath of gold etched in aurumite patterns in a script forgotten to the world. He carried no weapon in his hands which hung loosely to his sides.

He was not tall.

He was perhaps a hundred and fifty centimeters.

He was fit but not overly muscled.

His aquiline nose, thin lips and noble features were not particularly noteworthy.

His black hair reached his collar.

And absolutely none of it mattered.

Something about him, something about his presence pierced through any protection of human audacity or the nature of our people.

It was not psychic, it was something far more primal.

The way he carried himself, the look in his amber eyes.

It was every animal instinct screaming that you were in the presence of a higher creature.

It was the urge to throw yourself at his feet and beg for his blessing, to swear your loyalty in the hopes of being accepted among his people.

It was the urge to _bow._

"He's more impressive than you said," Morygen muttered next to me in High Gothic.

"Yap," Was the best that I could manage while keeping my composure.

His was starring at me. Holding my eyes locked in place with an unerring focus.

I did _not_ want to know what it was like for a normal person to see him. It seemed like it would be death, like begging for your reason to leave you as your mind was melted by his radiance.

The worst part was that I could see the slightest traces of amusement on his expression and I _knew_ that he could read me like a book. He did not _need_ telepathy to do it.

All fell to their knees as he passed and we on the dais fell to one knee as he came before us.

I should have looked down but his eyes would not give me leave to look away.

"You know me?" A voice so immaculate in its command that words fail to describe it.

I swallowed before answering, vividly aware of the screens floating above us. "Yes."

"Do you know yourself?" He asked without a trace of a human expression as if he were inspecting a piece for sale.

Another swallow of saliva, "Yes."

"Do you know why I come?" He said each word with a slow and deliberate pace, etching each syllable into the minds of those present.

"Yes," I had nothing better to say.

"And what is expected of you?" He asked.

"Yes," Was the only word that I seemed to know at that moment.

"And will you obey?" He asked.

"Yes," I repeated.

"And what are you called?" He asked.

I blanked.

I could not even think to recall my name as he looked at me.

"Galtine," Morygen forced the words out of her jaw clenched so hard that I could hear her jaw threat to crack from fear. "His name is Galtine."

The Emperor's stare was like a hammer blow as his eyes flicked to my wife, her head dipped against her straining and her knees trembled.

Then something unexpected happened his lips arched so slightly that it could not be called a human smile.

"From Galatine?" He asked her.

She trembled and forced the stiff muscles of her neck to raise just enough to look at his bare feet, "H- he said that was the root, yes."

Her words came out from between heavy breaths under his presence.

"Galtine," he savored the word. "Galatine was the sister of the most celebrated blade on Terra before it was Terra, the sword that loved the sun but lived as a shadow."

His smiled broadened slightly and his head dipped once, "Will you be my Galatine? My sword to wield against shadows? My weapon to wield in battle that will win neither of us glory?"

It was framed as a question but it was not one.

My purpose, those were his words.

I sucked in a breath and forced myself into composure as I nodded.

"I will be your weapon as was the purpose of my birth," I answered.

Then the presence receded into the man and everyone presence let go of a breath that they were not certain that they were holding.

"Rise my Second," He took hold of my hands as I stood. He was a bit more than half my height and yet I felt like the smallest pebble in existence even with the force of his mere presence forced back. "Rise my son and take your place as my sword against that which you call the Void."

The crowds and army beyond were cheering, they might have been doing so for the entire time and I would have been deaf to it.

"Rise my dear," he offered Morygen a smile and a hand which she took shakily. It was all that she could do to stand without trembling.

"Calengwag is yours, Your Grace," My voice was still distant with shock.

"No, My son," the man shook his head gently. "Calengwag is Terra's and Terra is Calengwag. Mankind belongs to every man and every man to Mankind. That is Unification."

I wish I could have said some words in defiance, some clever comment to show my independence.

It would have been false but it would have made me feel better.

He owned us before he had even spoken.


	42. Legion II

Watching the EMPEROR sit in the den of my rooms in the Great Hearth.

Watching the EMPEROR on one of Morygen's chairs with a leg crossed over his knee.

Watching the EMPEROR drink HOT CHOCOLATE with a content smile.

"This is good," he smiled to Morygen.

WATCHING THE EMPEROR COMPLIMENT THE BREWING OF HOT CHOCOLATE.

My brain was on the verge of melting.

"Th-th-thanking you," Morygen had a crushing grasp on one of my fingers.

"You are quiet, my son," the Emperor noted.

The Emperor was drinking cocoa in my den. The Emperor was drinking cocoa in my den. The Emperor was drinking cocoa in my den.

"I think you broke him," Morygen scratched her cheek awkwardly.

"Ah," He sipped again. "That is unfortunate."

"You are…" I began awkwardly.

"Not what you expected?" He finished before blinking. "Ah, well given your condition it is understandable."

"My condition?" I asked nervously.

"I _was_ in the process of altering your soul's makeup when you were taken," He explained before giving me another blank look. "I was somewhat concerned that you had not catalyzed properly."

"I am not sure I understand," I said.

"It is quite complicated," The Emperor explained. "Are you familiar with the notion of a multiverse?"

He smiled when my face blanked.

"Then know that I can look to what could have been," He explained. "All worlds are possible even if not all are equally linked to the warp."

No.

"So I found a world where I scented that my own world was both impossible and known," He continued.

No?

"A place too sealed for the barest whisper of chaos to enter," He smiled.

I was frozen in place.

"I plucked a single soul as it neared oblivion, one that would know what was to come," he casually explained. "It expired of course but not before I was able to weave the memories and personality into your own soul, then I sealed the slight hole that was that tear."

I had no response for what he so casually said.

I was not me.

"I am not me?" I asked.

"You are," He nodded. "I will apologize though, I am uncertain what would have happened had it not succeeded. It was just too tempting a prize, to even have one possibility crystalized and analyzed beyond what I safely can. Placed beyond the sight of that twisted force."

I should have been angry, I should have cursed him and I should have been screaming.

Instead I let go of a breath and looked to Morygen.

She had no fear or disappointment in her eyes.

"You are you," she smiled without a doubt. "That is enough for me."

"I had not expected this however," He looked at Morygen. "I am fascinated by your attraction to her."

I looked at him carefully, "You are being more honest than I had expected."

"Is that so?" He tilted his head and his expression became blank again. "I am very honest when I speak. The trouble is that mortals struggle enough with my presence unless they are properly deafened and even then it does require effort as you saw."

Despite myself I snorted, he still wore charisma as a cloak but it was distant thing which pulled at my caution and allowed me to relax.

"So I let my thoughts be known instead," he continued. "And hand signs are easier when interacting with the Anathema Psykana. I am out of practice with actual speech, I will admit. I do offer my apologies, you cannot hear my thoughts and I was uncertain if this world retained a proper sign language."

That was… shockingly mundane. He had brought me to his knees because actually speaking for him was the equivalent of a powerful psychic assault which could bring a psychically-deafened Primarch to his proverbial knees.

"You were surprised that he is my husband?" Morygen asked carefully.

"Exceedingly, it was my intent to make them sterile," He explained. "I am uncertain why they seem immune to physical urges for the most part. I am pleased with the variance."

I had not expected him to be so… _open_ , mysterious was the byword for the Emperor and hearing him speak so casually to a mortal was frankly disturbing.

"I know that I was born to be a tool," I admitted. "I will serve as long as no action is taken against us."

The emperor sipped again before giving me a blank look, "A parent produces children to fulfil an objective even if it is simple reproduction. Why would I act against you?"

"You will at one point speak to one of us as if we are a tool," I referred to Guilliman's ill-luck in a hopefully vanquished future.

Another sip before he put down the cup and clasped his hand together.

" _May_ ," He said without an expression. "Never forget that word Galtine, I know many things that might happen and you know precisely one. We are _both_ of us in truth no more likely to know tomorrow than a tribesman on a feral world. Take what you can from what you know, dissect and study its every facet but _never_ accept it as absolute."

The force came back to his words as he forced every word like a dagger into my mind.

"As to what I said, it is likely what that brother perceived," He said patiently. "I will tell you this, I am a man or at least something of a kin with one. If I am strained then interpretation grows stronger in my words, this can and assuredly will happen."

I nodded at what I was realizing was a lesson, "You were-"

"Do not tell me," He interrupted patiently before turning to Morygen again with a fatherly smile, "How many others know of this aside from you?"

"Our closest allies think Galtine can glimpse at the future," Morygen stammered as formally as she could under the pressure of the Emperor's gaze. "They don't know anything specific, only I do."

Fear crept up into my spine at her words.

"Do not hurt her," I forced myself to say quickly.

The Master of Mankind actually sighed.

"I am not some senseless beast," he said blankly. "I wished to know what she knew, you care for her and I have no objection to that. Others can divine the future, you may claim such a gift if it suits you. But never say something critical to anyone, you are each other's confidants and will remain so. I would even encourage it."

His golden eyes bore into me as he spoke, "Secrets can be horrid things to bear alone, maddening. Two can hold a secret better than one in my opinion and I will give you the means to keep them hidden."

The pressure waned again as his smile returned. "I give you my leave to act in mankind's interest because I wove that purpose into you, My Galtine. I made you into someone that will defend mankind and encased you in armor their whispers cannot pierce. But never tell anyone what _might_ happen, never let _them_ know your secrets by giving them to the winds."

I had the distinct feeling of a cross being lain over my shoulders at his words.

"I understand," I answered.

The faintly-human smile returned, "You are my tools and my children, Galtine. There is no distinction and I will never do any of you harm until the day I see you as a threat to humanity."

That brought a sea of questions to my lips but the weight of his words still hung on me.

I was a pebble he was tossing into a lake, I could not tell him anything without risking the words falling into the ears of Chaos.

No pressure.

"So I may ask as long as I refer to events past?" I asked.

"Yes," He nodded. "With a reasonable chance for a response."

I nodded before licking my lips.

"What year is it?" I asked.

"M30.817," He answered while eyeing his empty mug of all things. "Might I trouble you for another?"

Morygen got up to refill the cup while I recovered a touch more quickly from my shock.

"You are the fourth of your brothers found, if you are curious," he explained. "Horus Lupercal of the Sixteenth was recovered M30.805, Leman Russ of the Sixth was recovered M30.807 and Ferrus Manus of the Tenth was recovered M30.810."

M30.817.

That was… I had two centuries of life before me if I did not earn sanction.

"You seem uncertain whether that is positive or not," The Master of Mankind observed while accepting another cup. "I offer you my thanks."

Morygen rushed back to my side as quickly as she could, I did not blame her for that. Speaking to my creator was like speaking to a star that was momentarily unwilling to erase you from existence.

He smiled at after sipping again from the cocoa, "I have always enjoyed the way that this is brewed here."

The thing that was vaguely a man gave us a fatherly look which he freely admitted was a rehearsed and forced effort.

"I have traveled to many worlds in this galaxy, some before other men dreamed of them," He explained. "I know of this world as well as I can taste your fear that I might punish you for the artificed mind at your hip."

I was beginning to understand that pretending to hide something from the Emperor required the full backing of Chaos and a half-galaxy's distance.

"Greetings," Merlin chimed through his sword-avatar.

"And I trust that you know all of this as well," The Master of Mankind aped a smile. "Your world's technology is fascinating, so many things to treasure and so many things to learn. Much of it dangerous to most of the imperium and _all_ of it so difficult to reliably produce."

He shook his head and bore his vision into me again, "Veils upon veils I will have to force onto you it would seem, even if I am pleased with the foolishness of those who dub themselves gods."

It was mildly terrifying to realize that all of my secrets had been laid bare and coopted in a few minutes of conversation.

"You are terrifying, my creator," I chuckled nervously.

"Indeed I am," He nodded. "The Sigilite has said much the same thing on a number of occasions. It is not a pleasant realization, I assure you of that. I have and will do things of horror as will you. We will destroy people who consider themselves innocent. We will purgate those who consider themselves just and to them we will be monsters. It is unproductive to forget this."

To my side I could feel Morygen's unease and I loved her for a staying and braving the sight at my side with as little fear as a sane woman could.

"If you wish to reconcile this truth with the voices in your mind," He shrugged, a motion that seemed to strain against the world around shoulders which bore the collective sins and hopes of a species. "Then I would advice you to do as I, use the mind which I have given you and think of the alternatives without delusion, try and fail to do what you believe to be better. Take pride in your successes and suffer for your failures. It will temper you eventually."

I did not know if I was relieved by his acceptance or frightened by the bleakness he promised.

"You certainly are not Chaos," I finally shook my head. "They are supposed to sing _sweet_ half-truths."

"Some of your brothers will need sweet words and others will need me to be something that fits their beliefs. I find myself wondering if I want to shape one which can know everything without risk or if this is my chance to defend myself in truth?" He seemed to be asking himself the question before giving me his barely-human true smile. "Forgive an old man his rambling."

We spoke for a while longer before he excused himself and left me alone with my wife.

We would have sat there in silence for hours had we not been called on by another of the new arrivals.

The first of our sons wished a word.


	43. Legion III

I was still recovering from a conversation with my fath- _creator_ when I stood before the gates to one of the dozens of audience chambers being occupied by Imperial dignitaries haranguing my people in the initial phases of Compliance.

Those awaiting me inside were infinitely more important than whichever Iterator which I was going to publicly shame later once I submitted my thesis to the Emperor.

Morygen adjusted her leathers while I straightened my tunic.

"This is going to be interesting," I sighed.

My Astartes wished for an audience.

My _sons_ wanted an audience, the closest thing which I would ever have to offspring anyway.

The Emperor had told me of them, of the deafening to the Warp that came with my gene-seed. They were not Blanks in truth save for a small handful in the legion but they would not fear me or hate me the way many mortals might. They had traits I recognized, a fierce protectiveness and a strong filial impulse beyond what bound many legions together.

"The last family reunion was exception," Morygen snorted. "Do you think this one's going to leave us in stunned silence with our jaws hanging lip slack jawed idiots?"

"One can hope not," I sighed. "Although I would not wager on our luck in that regard."

With that I passed through the gates and emerged into a relatively small audience hall of stone and timber.

It was a plain chamber lit by warm torches and with six seats of wood flanking a larger throne on a two step dais.

They fell to their knees in a heartbeat of the door opening and starred down as we walked to the dais and took our seat.

Forty-Four Astartes kneeled before me along with a single Custodian standing at the rear of the room.

My eyes immediately scanned the armor they wore for marks of distinction.

I counted thirty captains, six lieutenant commanders, three lord commanders, a single praetor and a handful of specialists around the tall Astartes from before.

An odd arrangement but the rest of the legion was probably engaged elsewhere.

I felt something strange in my hearts now that I them closely, as if something in me recognized my blood in their veins.

"You wear helmets," I asked.

"Out of respect, My Primarch," The lead Astartes had the deep, echoing voice which I had long imagined in the Astartes.

"Take them off," I said kindly. "I would look on my children."

I caught the hesitation in the lead figures nod before he made a signal and the Astartes began unlatching their helmets and laying them down before me.

Thirty Terran years of medical experimentation allowed me to appreciate every modification made to their features. There were traces of gigantism, their proportions were not as finely balanced as my own to be sure but they were masterfully worked and bore their scars well.

I also saw myself in them as one did with almost all legions. Their skin was universally a touch dusky, even on men whose features did not match it and there was just a hint of silver in their eyes. A drop in some while others had eyes of lead or steel.

Why did I feel a touch of pride in that sentiment? Why did I see something between shame and relief in their eyes?

The tallest of them was grey, his beard and short-cropped hair were filled with grey and white which a glance told me was a result from shock and stress. His features were wide, kindly and strong beneath grey eyes filled with wisdom and sorrow.

"I am pleased to see your faces, my sons," the words came without thought and with a wide smile.

"My Primarch," The tall Legion Master bowed his head. "I present you with the remaining commanders of your legion and beg your reprimand."

There was pain in their eyes as their leader spoke, voice catching with the sorrow in his words.

It took me a heartbeat to respond the words as I did a recount of the Astartes arrayed before me as kept myself from crushing the wood of my armrest.

Around three thousand Astartes.

"Tell me what has happened, my son," the last two words forced their way into my voice along with more pain.

"My Primarch, we were outmaneuvered by our foes," The Legion Master shook his head. "And by my command our forty thousand brothers have been made less than a tenth our number and I can only present you with as many."

Morygen passed a hand over my own and I realized that the wood beneath my hand was shattering under my grip.

"Thirty-six thousand," I said between clenched teeth while wondering why the report enraged me beyond even the casualty reports of the raids and battles that I had directed for decades.

The Legion Master hung his head in relief before the Guardian Spear at the back of the room struck the floor.

"Lord Ailbe," The Custodian's vox echoed across the room and I raised me eyes from the disgraced Legion Master to regard the strange presence. I had seen no pointing in challenging his presence, Custodians were stubborn enough to fight to the death if they saw something as duty and they generally did not do anything that was not tied to duty.

"Custodian," I nodded carefully. "I am surprised to see one of my father's guards here."

"A matter of honor," He predictably did not so much as dip his conical helmet. He was more like a talking statue than anything human.

I raised a brow after I heard a sigh from the Legion Master.

"Then resolve the matter," I inclined my head with as much patience as I could muster in the confusing cocktail of emotion bubbling in my stomach.

He stretched out one golden gauntlet and pointed at the kneeling Astartes, "Their gauntlets Lord Ailbe. See the Aurumite bands they wear."

I looked at their gleaming bands, each wore on one hand while the Legion Masters entire right gauntlet was so decorated.

"They bear that mark for their survival of Drem, your sons distinguished themselves with honor for they fought against the great enemy beyond what could be asked of any Astartes. Your Legion Master held their forces against a tide of creatures where many would have failed and was awarded with those markings by the Master of Mankind," The Custodian thumped a fist against his breastplate. "I, Fabius of the Tharanatoi stand witness to this."

I nodded my thanks to the Custodians before turning my attention back to kneeling pattern of Astartes.

They felt guilt where others would have been proud of commendation.

That was good.

I felt Morygen squeeze my hand in agreement.

"Tell me more of Drem to the final detail, Legion Master," I said with the kindest smile I could manage past the strangest mix of grief and pride. "But first, tell me your name."

"Alten'lo, My Primarch," He dipped his head and began to recount his tale.

…

He told me of the world of Drem.

A planet which had been amidst some sort of apocalyptic civil war when their fleet had arrived a decade after declaration of the Crusade.

One side had offered Compliance for aid while the other had answered all communications with calls for their blood. The choice had been obvious, they had prosecuted months of careful support strikes. They cut off the supply routes of the vicious blood-drinkers, poisoned the bodies of the fallen and hunted the bloody rituals that they recognized from their earlier days. All was building towards a single coordinated battle wherein the final cultists would be destroyed by their combined strike and cement Compliance.

They had initially found success, their hardened legionaries felling the hordes of twisted and mutated former humans like a sharped blade cutting through grass along with the warriors of Drem.

Then things turned for the worse however when the desperate zeal of the cultists bought their leaders the time needed to summon forth a short-lived warpstorm that allowed bloodletter upon bloodletter to burst forth from the cultists as great beasts wielding axes of bronze, black iron and bone crashed into the legion from the heavens.

The people of Drem screamed across the world as the Second deployed en masse to attempt to save their allied cities, falling in brave but ultimately futile last stands. The legion fought hard, with the strongest blanks amongst the brothers attempting to bring down the greater abominations while only the cold calm of Alten'lo kept order as he bled his troops to separate the mindless hordes from the greater beings, allowing their null brothers to fight the abominations while the rest sold their lives to hold off the great swarm.

It was only the timely arrival of the Emperor and his daughters that saved the legion from destruction as the Daemons were carved apart by the bringers of Silence and the great beings screamed as the burning blade of Humanity's Master ended their existences. Only one in ten legionnaires remained at the battle's end and despite the commendation of the Emperor himself, the survivors were filled with shame at the deaths of their brothers.

Alten'lo and his survivors were attached to the Emperor's fleet until they could restore their strength or their Primarch could be found.

…

He had not spared any detail, he listed every brother he spoke with in those days. He gave me the formations he issued and every battle like a man in a fugue, like a sinner confessing his crimes.

And by the end thin streams of tears poured from the eyes of the Astartes.

I felt my own tears at the deaths of the sons I would never know and a sort of fierce pride at how they met their ends.

"You are Seekers," Morygen smiled at the Legion Master after he had finished his tale. "You have shed your blood as we have, your brothers have died as ours have. I am glad to embrace you as a son of my beloved."

There was confusion on Alten'lo's features at the mostly mortal woman's words, I doubted any of them fully understood what Morygen was to me.

Her words were as genuine as the tears in her eyes but there was something else in her voice. It had been years since she began to ask me of my genetic children, she wanted to share all things with me I supposed.

And my children were an extension of that.

"I am of a mind with my wife," I smiled at the man and rose from my throne and walked down from the dais to stand before the kneeling man.

"To your feet, my son," I offered a hand to the man.

He looked at me with a hesitation before shaking his head.

"I cannot," He shook his head. "There lives weigh on me, my Sire. I bring a legion of the dead where I should have brought you a legion which was both strong and vital."

"You bring me a legion where a lesser commander would have seen all slain!" I thundered with more anger than I had intended as I hauled the man to his feet as if he were a child which was crying on the floor. "And you will accept both my gratitude and my respect!"

Some part of me wondered where the anger had come from.

Morygen laughed as she walked over while wiping away her tears and looked up at the towering Astartes.

"It must be in the blood," She chuckled with a peculiar fondness. "You all look a bit like him you know, it's in the eyes but it is far more in the demeaner."

Alten'lo seemed a child for a moment and I my instinct had him embraced like the son I could never have.

I looked up at the assembled Astartes.

"You are all my sons and you all have my respect, I would have your names and I would have your stories. I would know the names of the Astartes in your companies and I would speak to each squad. We are made immortal, we are given faultless memories." I gave them a fatherly smile as the surge of emotions swirled in my hearts. "I can think no better use for those talents than knowing all of you."

Morygen chuckled despite herself, "You might want to let of Alten before you crush the life out of him."

Alten.

"You are already giving them nicknames," I smiled.

"I am told a mother should," she whispered to me.


	44. Legion IV

Being a Primarch had its uses.

My personal favorite was of course the ability to not be slaughtered like a small child.

But another favored ability was how little sleep I needed to function.

The weeks following the Emperor's arrival strained that ability to the limit.

I would wake at two hours past midnight and leave Morygen sleeping in our bed.

Breakfast would be a sparse thing while I scanned through proposals regarding the incoming constructor fleets and allocation priority while digesting whatever encyclopedia of relevant knowledge needed to answer said proposals. Followed by a brief shower and donning my first garb of the day.

By two and a half hours past midnight I was meeting with rulers, merchants and officers from the other side of Calengwag via holo to discuss whatever transitions were currently driving them ragged.

Four hours into the day Morygen would express her irritation at not being awakened and accompany me to the field barracks my legion had set up beyond the Hearth and sit with the company that was to speak that day. It was paradoxically the part of the day that I enjoyed and feared the most. We would sit with them each squad and listen to them speak of their trials, fears and ideas before sharing our own and embracing them as our sons. Their captain would join me for the day after that point so that I could better familiarize myself with the company some four hours later.

The notes made it clear that the filial bonds were part of my legion's makeup but that did not make the filial bonds that always sprung fully formed when I spoke to my sons feel any less real.

Eight hours into the day came the first round of feasting and court.

Calengwag as a whole maintained hundreds of polities bound to regional councils which in turn were sworn to the guilds so in turn hundreds of rulers from emperors to lords came to the feasts. Each day a few dozen more would kneel before the Master of Mankind to renew his or her oaths to the guilds and swear a new one to the Master of Mankind, rising only when the Emperor inclined his head minutely in acceptance.

Honor was a constant in humanity, even if only paying lip-service to the idea. Calengwag was a place where the appearance of honor was everything and even the vanquished Republic swore oaths with caution. It was probably why assassinations were still fairly common, oaths could not be broken publicly without (often fatal) public backlash regardless of circumstance. A murdered liege was unfortunate and accusations ran rampant but oaths were publicly maintained.

So, they were all unambiguously sworn to the Guilds and the Emperor of Mankind.

The Emperor.

Not Terra, not the Imperium and certainly not to any regent.

It was a technicality but one I had carefully set in place.

I had no doubt that it would leave to some laughable failures against my father which I would allow but it would make it impossible to even entertain a pretense of open rebellion.

The Emperor did not speak during those feasts and I had little chance to speak with his chief lieutenants in between addressing the small host of officials and courtiers that hung to my creator's coattails, reassuring the courtiers and rulers of _my_ own world and the fragile work of intertwining the Guildmasters with my Astartes officers.

Twenty hours after the dawn came two hours of parading in the setting sun by whatever element of the Seekers, the Polities, the Legion or the various Imperial Auxilia was showing themselves to the audiences across my world.

Solar Auxilia in their rounded suits of carapace and las weapons marched before lines of tanks. Astartes walked in parade formations holding their banners high while Morygen poked at my every time I seemed ready to applaud them like a father at their child's recital. Naval formations swimming across the heavens, the warships impressing with their sheer size while swarms of lighter craft trailed patterns of colored smoke in the heavens to the delight of crowds. Mechanicum robots, Imperial knights and titans marched across kilometers of land to the ravenous cries of the crowds, their similarities with the constructs of our land encouraging the masses. Alongside them marched armies of the guilds in gleaming armor of bronze and their guild brands, weapons of esoteric made held aloft. Sapphire Guards of Gwyar raised their powered weapons alongside armsmen of a thousand houses. Beastmasters of the New Republic rode creatures artificed and controlled through ancient devices through the grounds and heavens. Marhausi Gun-Lines twirled lightning rifles in drilled unison and hefted projectors of fallen heroes. The Knights of Kyra, Lasar Dragoons and a hundred different brands of warriors joined in the marches.

I was actually amused the day that Morygen asked 'Lady' Krole when her warriors would illustrate their own march, it struck me as funny that my maker had not warned his Talons of the world's nature since the women seemed singularly unprepared for the attention.

It was tedious but the revelry pleased me, the signs of integrations which were already starting to show in oaths of friendship struck over drink and the mixing my shadows reported among the sea of pavilions beyond the fortress.

The remainder of my day was spent in council with my advisors, my Astartes and occasional my fathe- _creator_ discussing the work of integrating the legion into the structure of the Guilds.

Unofficially it was also at that time that tales of war against the foes that my maker crafted us to fight took place. That was the most important thing, that the Seekers and Second Legion accepted their marriage into a single entity, the army which I would lead into the stars.

That proceeded as well as could be accepted and it pleased me to see Trystane and Alten'lo take a liking to each other quickly. Alten'lo held the respect of his brothers and Trystane had long been accepted as my right hand among the guilds.

By twenty six hours after Dawn Morygen was asleep and I was doing light reading before my hour of sleep.

The days were only interrupted by rituals and formal oaths of special note.

The induction of the Second as the Golden Guild.

The formal introduction of the Guildmasters and the Senior Commanders of the Expedition Forces.

My presentation of the Machine Spirit in my blade and its formal recognition by the Emperor as a Machine-Spirit and other events of importance.

It was an ephemeral time and it seemed to be over before it started properly.

Then the Emperor gave his first command.

To select the first among my people to be reformed, to journey to Terra and to be reshaped.

…

I stood before one of the courtyards in the slopes of the Great Heart, the night's sky painting the world dark save for the illumination of the distant camps stars above.

Before me four hundred youths stood, the youngest was six years by Calengawg time and the eldest was nearing eight. But they all stood with hard eyes born of the Seeker's life, even if the youngest were mere apprentices two years into the life.

Four hundred was the number the Emperor has specified.

They were to be _my_ trial as much as their own.

At the head stood six who were boys in form alone.

Trystane with his sea-colored eyes and hair shaven short, his cheek pinched up in his unfading smile and tired eyes.

Morien with the ebon hued skin and white mane of the Eastern Starpoint peoples and the measuring look in his eyes.

Dinada with his greying skin, rare amber eyes and black hair straight-backed and frowning. He had some of his grandmother in his cold eyes.

Tor, green-eyed despite having features which would have been called Far Eastern on old Terra, good-humored and smiling.

And the nameless Emissary, thirty years of good-council and friendship leveraged for a change that might end his eternity and see him dead on a surgical slab.

Friends, sons of friends and grandsons of friends.

I had chosen each and ever one of them.

There was no doubt that any who died were dying by my own hand and with none of the glory that joined any of the previous fallen.

I stamped my hand against the breastplate of my ceremonial armor.

"Know me as Galtine!" I shouted my greeting. "Dawn is the Guild over which I am master!"

Four hundred different introductions rang to my satisfaction.

"May you find profit!" I shouted back. "You are chosen. By the command of He who is the Master of Mankind, I am to lead the Second Legiones Astartes into the heavens to bind together humanity and banish the Void!"

I pointed at Alten'lo to my right.

"My sons have sworn themselves to the guilds and I have made it known that the Guilds are to follow me into the stars!" I continued as I accepted a long scroll bound in golden chains and knotwork ropes from Morygen and held it up. "Here are the signatures of the six Guildmasters, every Sect-Master and every Oathmaster as well! The Guilds and the Second are to be one!"

They did not respond beyond stern nods. This had been a long-rehearsed ritual, a moment awaited for nearly five years among the guilds. An open secret really.

But ritual was etched into the bones of Calengwag and it had bled into me by extension.

"And I call upon all of you to once more renew your oaths, to risk your flesh and your souls to become as kin to me," I continued. "I have shed blood alongside many of you and have held the friendship and affection of many of your forbearers. There is no shame is stepping back from this, there is no loss of rank tied to admission of risk."

I paused again to survey them, many of the younger ones had the slightest trace of uncertainty in their pulses and breathing even if they showed none of it.

But no one spoke.

Instead they fell to a knee as one.

I held up my hand, "You will never take a mate, you will never hold your sons in your hands, you will not know the glory of mortal men. You will be called to stand against the Void in its truest form, away from the great equalizer of the Authority. You will take my blood into you and be remade in my image. I offer you no falsehoods."

I paused again to listen for protests and nodded when there were none.

"You will see the children of your brothers and of your sisters turn to dust while you remain untouched, you will find new brothers and lose them as well. I call on those who accept that this is the prize the lays beyond the misery I promise you should you survive being remade."

The silence continued.

"You will become the sword of mankind against the truest of evils of this world, to face the cruelest reflection of the human soul while defending that very soul. You will reduce those who by ignorance or by willingness stand against the salvation and ascension of humanity to ash. You will suffer and you will eventually fall, whether on the dust-choked fields of some nameless world or atop the final walls of mankind as all we build comes to a fiery end."

"You will do this in the name of the dawn. The dawn of an age where humanity will be freed from strife, a world where the void is left a shattered ruin, a time beyond endings. You will fight for the dawn of this utopia which may not, will not or even _cannot_ exist. You will fight for the dawn of a world where we may have no place."

"Because that is the purpose we embrace now. The purpose that led us to make war on the endless cruelty of letting our home bleed to death to maintain our place. The Seekers fought to end the world where they were needed. My Knights will fight for a dawn that will be built on their bones."

I looked to the amassed youths.

I let the words hang in the air for heartbeats, for minutes and then for hours

I waited for one of them to rise, to leave or to protest. I waited for them to question.

They did none of these things.

These were not new words, these were the words I had spoken to each as I had chosen them.

As the night's sky began to fade and the sun rose I stood between it and them.

"So, I ask you. Will you accept this charge? Will you be my Knights of the Dawn? Will you be my Dawn Knights?"

"I, Trystane of the Ruby, do so swear. I will become the knight that brings forth my final dawn."

"I, Messenger of the Fear Gorta, do so swear. I will become the knight that brings forth my final dawn"

"Morien-'

"Anu-"

"Ocre-

"Erns-"

"Nua-"

"Jyo-"

Four hundred voices repeated their oaths as the sun rose.

I unsheathed Calyburne and hailed them.

"Then, We Bring The Dawn!"


	45. Legion V

Terra.

Earth.

Home.

 _No_ , I thought from atop the battlements of the rising Imperial Palace. _It isn't, my home is among the stars. Calengwag, that is home._

I sighed and scratched at the band of Aurumite biting into my neck.

 _A wedding gift_ , my maker had said on the final day of our stay as he presented us with twin collars of perfected gold wrought by his own hand and technologies I could not begin to grasp. _May they bind you for all to see._

It was a blessing, a sign of favor.

It was also far more than that.

I put that thought out of mind as I looked at the cyclopean city beyond the walls, and endless sea of towers which resembled the ruins of Calengwag writ large over the entire world.

It was harder to imagine that this was Terra _before_ it truly became a single endless city of impossibly vast towers. There was still a planet, scarred and ruined but present beyond the endless city.

"It's like a dream," Morygen said from where she sat at the edge of the wall, her legs idly swinging over the endless fall. "Or a nightmare, I am not sure which yet."

"For what it is or what it could be?" I asked as she leaned in next to me.

I passed a hand through her hair, idly noting the slight changes that his maker had taught him began changing my mate's scale and nature. She had been entirely too eager to go under the knife for a change more extreme than any I had attempted before.

Her bones already felt harder under the expanding shape beneath, the muscles stronger and the skin paler with lines of carefully healed scarring.

 _You will learn faster this way_ , my father had said. _You will not make mistakes when she is the one you change._

"Can I say both?" She let out a quiet chuckle as she rested her head against my hand. "It's so much. It's one thing for you to tell me about it but actually seeing it."

She turned away from the cityscape to meet my eyes, "You're not the best storyteller, love."

That was my Morygen, she never stopped laughing at the world for better or worse.

"It will be better," I assured her. "It _must_ become better."

"Almost makes me wish we had not been so damned successful," She snorted.

"A touch late for that," I mused.

We had already spent months on Terra.

Months of parades and festivals in my honor that made the matter on Calengwag look quaint by comparison. Interrupted by sleepless nights learning at my creator's feet, the Emperor was unsurprisingly a hard and demanding teacher.

He joined me in his labs as we worked over my mate, he had me work alongside his physicians as I oversaw the conversion of my chosen knights into the fully grown Astartes through the accelerated steps of initial intake.

Other times he would take me to hidden archives and oversee my occult learning. I was expected to know every strength and flaw of the warp that he had amassed over the years, there was no illusion of wonder or optimism, just more work and another archive to venture into. A Primarch had little need for sleep or rest but the Emperor seemed intent on pushing me beyond even those inhuman ends of exhaustion.

I was certain that I was being punished for insisting that I needed no cuddling.

At least I counted myself lucky that I had yet to meet any of my brothers, I was too overworked to even think of how to engage with them.

"Alten says that the induction is going well," She commented as we watched the city.

I smiled. "As well as I could hope, my maker said that none should die under my watch at this stage."

There were ways of reducing the mortality of the conversion, inefficient and impractical ways to be certain but they existed.

"I wonder who will survive," She sighed.

"The Guildmasters will at least," I had groomed their bodies with as many advantages as I could manage over the years of treatments which I had worked over them. I had underestimated the complexities of geneseed to be certain but they already had my genetic material etched into each of the six.

Beyond that it was a matter of will.

"And the others?" She asked while tapping the stone of the palisade.

"I can only try," I admitted.

She laughed, "That's all that you can do then."

We fell to silence again, enjoying the quiet moment of peace until the communication bead on my collar would chime my father's summon.

Unfortunately, our peace was interrupted before an hour passed.

"At last," An old voice said from behind us and to my displeasure. "You are hard to find, Ailbe. Or Ailbes I should say."

I sighed, "I was wondering when you would find me."

"Pointy-Staff Man of Doom?" Morygen asked without looking back, a trace of mischief slipping into her expression.

"Pointy-Staff Man of Doom," I responded while studying a distant spire with particular interest..

"'Point-Staff Man of Doom' can hear you," The old voice stamped a staff on the ground. "And he does not care for the name, my staff's wings are not pointy."

"Yet you do not object to the latter part of the title," I had invested a great deal of effort into avoiding a particular member of the Imperial court since my arrival. I knew that he would find the time eventually but I resisted as best I could.

"Well, I cannot quite argue that," he let out a wheezing chuckle.

Malcador.

"The last Sigilite thinks a humble tool is worthy of his time," I rolled my eyes. "I am truly blessed."

The Sigilite, the First Lord of Terra and a man that I had no love for. Where the Emperor at least had a human arrogance, Malcador did not even have that vestige of humanity for all of his pretense.

Something about that bothered me.

The staff clang with each of his steps as he went through what was probably a show of an old man actually needing to lean on the tall eagle-tipped staff that he had lit with powerful psy-fire.

I did not look up to acknowledge him.

Truthfully, I had nothing but respect for the man's ability as an administrator and I was also very much aware of just how easily he could kill a number of my brothers if he exerted himself.

It was hard to survive a moon being dropped on your head, even Primarchs were not immune to the tender mercies of gravity.

"You are a rather bellicose one," He observed. "And after I went through the trouble of clearing your schedule so that we could meet."

Well, that explained the pause.

"You bring it out in me," I answered. "Would you like a prophesy?"

"Your maker advised me against that," The old man answered.

I was idly aware that the old man could collapse the ground beneath us and send us tumbling down into the abyss beyond, he was probably aware I could drive my sword through him as he did so.

Neither I or Morygen spoke as three of us stared off into the city.

"I will admit that I am curious," the withered old voice of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy spoke. We both knew that I would reveal nothing of significance, I was only allowed to act through deed not through word.

"The pretense of being a feeble old man is going to cause you great pain," I said while looking down at a patrol of Custodians.

"How so?" The moon-stealing scholar asked with something sad in his voice. "That some mistake will bring me pain, that I will weep for my choices? That is well-known to me already."

"No, I mean physical pain," I felt the corner of my lip turn upwards. "My brothers tend towards trying to assault anything smaller than them in the near vicinity when upset. I would advise investing in psi-shields, a broken back seems a bit much for an act."

That got a laugh.

"Not quite the revelation I was expecting," The old man laughed.

"I admit to being curious," I commented idly. "If you have the biomantic skills to survive that sort of pain, why bother with the pretense of being an old man?"

It was a dangerous game, I was no speaker but in my years I had learned that I had a talent for reading faces. There was little truth in the man, not an absence of humanity like my creator but a human man who had something born of tired, something unwavering where a soul should be.

"Because I am an old man," The Sigilite responded. "Although in your narrative, why tell me all of this if I am such a fearful entity to your mind?"

"Perspective I suppose," I shrugged. "I am a tool with a few centuries of use if my father finds me expendable and I would like to find a way for many of my brothers to be useful. I want you to know that you irk me."

"An odd thing to tell someone," The ancient observed.

"But a helpful thing, you likely care little for flatteries or lies which you can see through. I will instead tell you that we have a similar view in that humanity is better off with an even number of limbs and a lack of tentacles."

That got me another laugh.

"That is a bit bleak, do you not think?" The Sigilite shook his head. "Such a dire young man."

"I am genuinely surprised that you consider me a 'man'," I sighed. "Is this the sort of discussion you were hoping for?"

"I was hoping to invite you to a game actually," The Sigilite chuckled. "A simple competitive game wherein I would make a number of observations as to your character and weigh how you would react to that assessment before drawing my own conclusions."

Huh.

"That actually sounds interesting," I allowed.

"I thought that you would think so," The old said. "The offer stands."

"Hmm," It actually sounded interesting.

"He accepts 'Pointy-Staff Man of Doom'," Morygen sighed while snuggling closer to my shoulder.

"By far the least impressive title which I have amassed over the years," the First Lord of Terra observed.

"But an accurate one!" Morygen chuckled. "It also helps distract me from the fact that you could kill this entire planet if you had the will for it."

"Dear girl," One of the most power psykers in the galaxy scoffed. "What sort of stories has this child been telling you of? I am strong but he makes me sound a fright."

"Nothing but accurate summations," I defended my account.

"I find it amusing that warriors which have slain the great servants of the warp fear an old bureaucrat," Malcador chuckled.

Morygen looked up to meet those ancient eyes and smiled, "Because we'd be long dead if we did not know how to take someone's measure."

"Well, then it is only fair that we play indeed!" The man leaned closer to his staff. "You must allow this old man to have his own moments of disturbing observation, it is only just would you not say?"

"One game," I agreed.

"Oh, this sounds fun," Morygen smiled up at me.

Morygen was improving.

She sounded relaxed, her eyes were hard and her breathing was even.

Her fear in the presence of the beings around her was only obvious because I could hear the beat of her heart and the trembling of her skin.

Yet she kept trying to improve.

I loved that woman.

"One game is enough for an old man," The Sigilite agreed. "Another day perhaps but I will hold you to that agreement.

I was not sure how I ended up playing a daily game with a man that instinctively drew my ire.


	46. Legion VI

_I was running down a corridor that reached into the open night sky, to a sky filled with golden eyes, eyes that looked into me for weakness, for something to burn out of me._

 _The walls hissed at me as I walked past them, faces of glass and shadow hissing through reptilians maws decorated with grasping hands where there should have been teeth, each hand was a burnt and rotting thing with the last vestiges of humanity clinging to them like the charred bits of meat and tattered skins that hung like wrapped veils. Their bony fingers met at mouths sprouting from their desiccated palms, cracked and bloody lips mouthed the same question._

 _"Why us?" The chorus of familiar voices asked over the hissing. "Why were we the ones to die? Why did the others live?"_

 _"Why us?" Unfamiliar voices whispered into my ears as undefined phantoms clung to me like a cloak of smoke. "Why could we burn? Why were we acceptable?"_

 _But I paid the phantoms no mind, I only cared for catching him._

 _I raced after Trystane with Calyburne in hand._

 _"Wait!" I shouted as I tried to keep up with the man, we were always of a height here, always he was faster. "Wait! You must not go!"_

 _But he did not turn._

 _How could he?_

 _Those were not the words I had said after all._

 _"The mission is more important!" Howled the twisted giant with silver eyes who kept pace with me. "Trust her to see it done."_

 _He was death to us both as he charged with a dagger in one hand his white-hilted sword in the other._

 _We ran through the corridor of nightmares towards the distant fire and the roars of hysterical laughter._

 _"Do not go!" I screamed as the eight spires rose in the distance. "Please! I do not want to see it again!"_

 _But he kept running even as I tossed away Calyburne and frantically tried to take hold of him._

 _But the chains came down, loops formed by the judging eyes that entangled my arm and pulled it away from my friend._

 _Where the chains met in the heavens, golden mouths opened._

 _"Galtine!" They hailed. "Seeker! Purifier! Oathmaster! Sectmaster! Guildmaster! Retaliator! Primarch! Primarch!_ _ **Primarch!**_ _"_

 _They laughed as Trystane vanished and the walls began to move away as the spires neared._

 _"Primarchs have no fears," The shadowy giant embraced me as more of the singing chains bound us. "Primarchs conquer, Primarchs accel, Primarchs sacrifice."_

 _"Let me go!" I roared against the chains as the floors rose like grey statuary and crumbled as soon as it formed._

 _Letters on a table._

 _A ring of advisors._

 _Demands and wounded pride._

 _Orders._

 _"Revenge!" Laughed as great cerulean hermaphrodite as it held seven arms to the eight towers. "Come! Come! Come to me!"_

 _Its laughs raised as Calyburne erupted from its heads and ripped through its body before the coming spires._

 _The spires rose from the ground as men and women of shadows uprooted them and laughed as they paraded them._

 _The danced around me with their laughter._

 _"Purgate! Purgate! Purify! By your words!" They laughed as blood rained down from the skies and onto my face._

 _"My orders, my words," No! No! No! Not again! No! "I did not want this!"_

 _Their laughter stayed even as white blades cut them away and the spires came down onto the fire like curtains across a stage, the stars and walls vanished with them._

 _I was alone in a field save for Trystane._

 _He walked to me with his blue eyes gone, turned into gates for a sea that poured out a torrent as he laughed and held up what he held in his hands towards me while laughing like a madman._

 _"You're here!" He smiled. "You said you would change me! Change me! Change me! Change her! Save her! Fix her!"_

 _A single cold eye starred up at me through a tangle of half-burnt raven locks._

 _"I followed your orders to the letter," Her voice was the same as the day I had met her but she had no lips or vocal cords to speak with anymore. "I did not run, you said you would come for us and here you are."_

 _"He can't fix you," A familiar voice behind me denied._

 _I turned to see them._

 _"He only wants to conquer," Morygen said as she held Ymer in her arms. In the same bronze dress, the same tiara, the same wordless scream contorting her sharp features, the same pleading look in her green eyes. "He only wants to not be the weak one."_

 _As she spoke red lines raced along her body as it burst at the seams._

 _I tried to run to her but the ground beneath me had turned into a mass of hands clamping onto my legs while the slain of a hundred battlefields tried to claw their way out of the rain-slicked dirt._

 _"It cannot last forever," Morygen laughed as her tattered skin was knocked away by a wind that brought up a wall of fog. Only ancient bones remained holding Ymer's body._

 _"You cannot save us, you are not even human," Ector commented as he exited the fog, his neck still discolored and pulled from the noose. Behind him Morygen the Elder's headless body nodded it's neck stump, Lord Antur smiled through carved out teeth and King Gaerys starred through the remaining half of his body._

 _"You will not save us, you are no Primarch," a line of Astartes emerged. Colorless helmets starring through broken lenses, upright through mutilated bodies._

 _"I'm sorry," I choked out. "It was me, it was me, it was me!"_

 _"You are not even you," the Emperor's voice rang as the dead pulled me into the mud._

I awoke from my sleep in the great rooms of brass, gold and marble my maker had given us.

I looked down to see Morygen sleeping with her head on my chest and felt a weight lift from my chest before closing my eyes.

I took a single breath and held it for a moment before letting it go.

Then a second and a third until my breathing had evened out.

Finally I eased her onto one of the pillows and pulled myself out of the bed.

"Council," Merlin hummed in a low enough frequency for only I to hear as I began dressing. "You should address your condition."

"How long?" I ignored the question while locking a belt of heavy chains around my robe.

"One hour," Merlin replied while making disapproval clear in their three tones. "No deviation."

"That is enough rest for one day then," I nodded as I slid tied my scabbard into place and sheathed my sword.

I had things to do.

…

"I am fine," Trystane waved me off as I looked up from my seat and dataslate. "I am not coughing up blood yet, am I?"

I gave him a serious look, "We have already lost twenty from rejecting phase one alone."

The gene-labs of the palace were a pleasantly austere and sanitary place to work and I liked to see to my men on a regular interval.

Gene-Seed Implantation had six stages wherein a set of new organs were introduced combined with the other necessary steps for induction.

Truthfully it was the first stage that I was the most concerned about since no skill could countermand the simple fact that the ideal introductory age for this set was ten terran standard years. Most legions did not take aspirants quite that young due to the sheer-lack of traits suitable for selection at that point, most favored between twelve and fourteen and took the risks that came with it. Implantation simply could not take to any older than that without guaranteeing an atrocious death toll.

The Emperor had told me that he had used some limited biomancy to aid in the conversion of some of my brothers followers of course but that was hardly an option. My gene-seed was too resistant coupled with the innate nature of the subjects, he could do it but he would have to exert more power than the subject could survive at any rate.

I wondered if that was true or if this was merely one of his learning exercises writ large.

"No pains," Trystane shook his head while scratching his scarred chest. A year after the initial implantation and the effects were already obvious. Trystane's body was already tall for a human and bulking out at a rapid pace, his bared chest already showed differences with each breath as the changing rib structure beneath continued its evolution. My blood mixed with the Emperor's blessing was already beginning to show as his pale skin was just a shade darker and his sea-blue eyes were just a touch greyer.

He was having a rather tame reaction compared to some of the others, it was strange how much they differed from who they were when I met them in some cases and how little they resembled their parents in others.

The emissary in particular had an unexpected reaction, rather than his ancient body rejecting the change it instead embraced it to a fantastic degree. He towered over the others the way a custodian might much to my consternation and my maker's fascination.

 _How strange that our friends are becoming our sons_ , I sighed wistfully. Morygen had been summoned by my father as she sometimes was when he wished to make some hidden alteration in her for me to find at a later date. Some gift or other which he swore us to secrecy on.

I supposed that my own fondness for perfecting the human form came from him in that regard.

I had feared it at first but when he blessed us with the way to make them _our_ sons even in such a token respect. I knew how to be grateful.

"Mental changes?" I asked patiently.

Trystane snorted and his tired eyes seemed to gleam just a little more. "Well, I am not sure that I will be calling Morygen 'mother' at any point, or you. It is a bit much, even for me!"

"Not what I asked," I smiled and shook my head at the jibe.

"It is," Trystane sighed and cracked his heavily muscled neck before bringing a hand up to massage it. "Nothing Alten'lo did not warn me about. Loyalty becoming something a touch more… filial if that is how I can describe it which I am not sure I understand. Is that from the 'Biscopea'?"

I nodded, "In part it would seem, hormonal regulation is altering your susceptibility and priorities. It will likely not kick until proper indoctrination."

I needed to find a better word for that, the term had too much baggage to it. It and with the hypnotherapy and chemical treatments were not about brainwashing, they were there to teach the brain and body to subconsciously control their new bodies. I had seen the recordings from previous transitions and an augmented marines was altogether not that impressive and increasingly erratic until they were taught how to actually direct their bodies properly. Without them, a gene-seed was an elaborate weapon without a user's manual or interface at best and a death sentence at worse.

"My sister will love that," Trystane sighed in rare mention of his family. "She already writes that I follow you like a whipped dog."

I discretely swallowed the bile as memories flashed over my eyes.

"I have no intention of distancing you from your family," I assured him. I wanted to encourage it in truth, a marine should be like a Seeker, permanently marked from their family but still very much a part of it. My warriors would never be distant gods looking down on humans, I would not allow that.

"Not even if I asked nicely?" He joked while stretching. "Only three more years and I get one of those fancy suits of armor?"

"Four," I corrected. "I do not intend to rush if I can avoid it, bad enough that the primary intake is set to start next year once Alten'lo departs with the Emperor's loaned surgeons."

Trystane shrugged, "Not so long a wait, it will give me more time to practice! Can't have others thinking that I am not worthy of it!"

I smiled at the man as he laughed at his own joke.

 _You are worthy of it_ , I added quietly. _You have already given what they will never know._


	47. Legion VII

Time has an unhealthy habit of passing one by.

Seven years to forge a legion.

Seven years to bind the oaths into place.

Seven years to learn to wear the mantle of Primarch.

All happening at once.

…

The Astartes process is a thing of horror and beauty.

Nineteen organs and five rituals make the Astartes beyond human.

Over the table the first step is taken. The three pillars are woven into the body, the foundation upon which Astartes are fashioned.

First the Secondary Heart comes, a cocktail tightens the flesh and opens the absence to be filled. Near the first comes the second, a supplicant to the human heart, an heir to aid its greater twin and takes its place if needed. Easiest among its kin does it come into the flesh of man and upon its strength are the remainder given life, blood flows with greater strength than any human could claim and allows for survival as the aspirant rises amongst the ranks of humanity.

Second comes the Ossmodula, rend open the human mind and piercing my child's skull. Ossmodula wedded to the gland upon the human skull's base. A new note they sing into the song of growth of man, not a process but a new note in the wilting of childhood and blossoming of manhood. Newborn bone coming to hunger sustenance no man should eat, to make bones stronger than steel stretch into a grander form than mortal.

The Ossmodula grows with its sister the Biscopea to grant strength beyond the mortal grasp, plunged into the torso and claiming mastery of growth. The boy turns away from the shape of his fathers to the path of a new father, the Biscopea sculpts this path of strength while singing of the way its kin will come.

The Second heart opens the way, the Ossmodula paves it and the Biscopea to sculpt. Human maturation driven to finer purpose.

Here is where death first comes, two years of careful grooming shattered at the first misstep. The sons of friends in coffins to be returned to their home like their fathers and mothers before them, a debter's coin on their malformed brows.

But more survived the two years of growth, dwarfing what they were and would have been as they became titans of unbreakable flesh and incredible strength.

But they are still so incomplete, their bodies the promise of a painful death were it no more than the first steps on a long road to greatness.

Haemastamen is another conductor to the choir of control, embracing the aorta of man and bringing the young children new breath as their forms began to suffocate them. Life giving air and food given passage into the farthest reaches of the flesh by way of blood a brighter red than that of man.

With the Haemastamen came the Healer, the Larraman. From its small form marched a new host into the flesh, an army of guardians that outstripped the efforts of mortal means. A host that give themselves to seal the breaches in the flesh and saving their lord from all but the most dire of wounds.

Together they gave life and preserved it while the newborn heroes began, so did their lessons. Sessions of training that began to tease out the full potential of these gifts, felling those that could not learn to wield their new strength and scale.

Training which twisted again as the Catalepsean was embedded into the body. It stripped away the need for sleep as a mortal would have, allowing for parts of the mind to enter dormancy and awaken as needed. So elevated, the supplicant becomes awake to the threats beyond his body while resting his mind.

Thirty more of my sons met their ends as their minds lost the son and their blood became clogged and twisted. These returned home with bodies to be envied as they were lain to rest.

Next began the embraces of the Hynomat, helms that forced stimuli through the sensory input of the newborn warrior, awakening them to their minds to their new bodies and easing away the need for the formulas that had aided them in their evolution until that stage. Painful at first but with pain comes wisdom.

With this wisdom and flesh, the subject is strengthened for the coming cascade of blessings.

Preomnor, salvation from poisons of both nature and artifice.

Omophahea, the gift of truly knowing the foe through tasting their flesh.

Imbiber, the freedom to breath where no man should. To walk without fear of toxic air and the void.

Occulobe, through the trance-helm this organ bestows peerless sight.

A sacrifice is offered for the Lyman, an ear willingly carved away and replaced with a newfound twin. Through tutelage came the ability to distinguish, to lower and raise the echoes of the world as suited the warrior beyond man. A warrior who would never again lose balance or be stunned by a dizzying world.

Sus-an was the promise of salvation, to embrace cold sleep rather than death.

Melanochrome, aegis against the claws of the sun and its more malefic ilk.

The dizzying surgeries felled so many, child after child broken on our tables. Fifty-two taken as their bodies could not learn to accept what they were becoming.

But those who survived neared ascension.

Purifier, cleanser of blood and final shield against the collapse of the flesh-wrought temple.

Neuroglottis, the nose of the finest tracker and the talent to know the value of all meals.

Mucranoid to forge a shell of stasis should they fall victim to the void's grasp.

Betcher, to spit capable of burning apart a foe.

Twenty-three more bodies.

The Progenoid was a cherished gift, a trace of lineage to still be maintained, a gift to pass on when their final day had risen.

And the Black Carapace, to bind them to their plate.

Indoctrination came last.

Months of ritual to catalyze the nineteen gifts of their flesh and achieve ascension, or die as they lost control over the miracles in their forms.

A final three friends were broken before my sight in those final days.

The rest emerged inhuman.

Memories which would never fail, minds which could outstrip the finest savants and reflexes which were imperceptible to the human eyes. These gifts were but a few gifted to those that became Astartes.

Only one last ritual awaited at the end.

Four hundred had sworn the ritual on the distant Hearth of Calengwag.

Now two hundred and fifty-five stood before me in unpainted armor, giants of ceramite and unbroken will with bolter in hand and blade at their side.

They at before me but at the heart of an army.

Eight thousand brothers neared their final trials on that distant Hearth but for today all of those Terran had been recalled to take part.

I stood on a high stand overlooking the four thousand legionaries.

To my left stood Alten'lo, his warplate unique among all present and first to undergo the ritual gifted by the Emperor upon us. To my right stood Morygen, towering over the mortal serfs of Terra which stood at her side like they did next to every son. They held phylacteries of shaped steel in their heavy robes and bowed their heads in respect for the importance of the occasion.

It would be a brief ritual as all knew what it entailed, the unity of the action was half of the point.

Alten'lo walked forward first, the light on the dawning sun caught on his armor of bronze and cinnabar, his right pauldrons fringed in gold and markings racing along his warplate.

Squad carved into the knee, Raid patterned in gold against the edges of the plate, Oath symbol marked in the into the sun streaks of sun-badge that dominated the legion badge on both shoulders. Sect marked by the ratio between the bronze streaks and gold lines inverted from on pauldrons to the other. Metal-reliefs of knotwork overlayed his breastplate and centered on the polished golden-hued gem at the center of the plate. A ring of status around his helm to represent his lordship.

It was a symbol of Guild, a symbol of rank and a symbol of house.

He was Alten'lo of House Ailbe now.

He was _our_ son.

He raised a hand and as one four thousand Astartes mag-locked their bolters and removed their helms.

They bore the white eye-marks of youths to reflect the marks of parentage reflected beneath the eyes of my wife and I. Behind us stood a single banner, held aloft by a Custodian guard. The Eye of Terra was unique here, marked by trailing tears of gold.

The Emperor had conceded to be present after a fashion, asserting his place as patriarch over all man.

They held their helms under the crooks of their arms and accepted the offered Phylacteries from the serfs.

They raised them high against the sun, catching the golden sun etched into the heart of each container.

As one they open their mouths upwards and lowered the tip of the Phylacteries, allowing the arterial liquid to pour in its rich crimson shade onto their mouths.

Not a drop was spilled as they ingested the Emperor's greatest gift, his act to ensure my perfect loyalty.

It was a virus of His making, worked with my own blood and Morygen's.

As it poured into them it would spread through them, rewriting both their blood and the latent tendencies of Astartes mental architecture.

It was no mere adoption, it was no mere lip service for which Morygen would be called 'Legion Mother'.

They were now our sons in a far more complete sense, their filial ties to me engendered to Morygen even as she herself imbibed a serum to bind her to them.

They would wear the colors of Ailbe because they were now of the house as truly as any born to it, as truly as they were of the parents which had first birthed them.

They knew and accepted this to a man through the innate character of my blood and I could not help but smile widely as I saw my sons reach their final ascension.

"My Dawn Knights!" I shouted to them with overjoyed zeal. "My sons! We are reborn and remade! We make war on the stars as one! Not of Terra or of Calengwag but of our kin! We bring the Dawn!"

They roared their agreement as they unsheathed their swords and held them high.

When the legion would muster in a few weeks' time, they would muster in the colours of Ailbe overlain with the guild they laid claim to.

Terra would be gold.

The five ancient guilds of Calengwag would lay claim to Silver, to Emerald, to Sapphire, to Pearl, to Ruby.

And the Seventh guild, that which had been forged in wait of this day would retain their fated name, the Onyx.

Together we would journey to Calengwag and oversee the induction of the first wave of their brothers.

We would together ride the ship which had been forged to ferry them across the stars, a lone ship forged to embody the divine spirit of one of the revered guardians of ancient myth.

A legion twelve thousand strong would return to Terra and muster the oathsworn I had gathered over the years. The proud hounds of the _Legio Vexos_ and the first Auxilia of Calengwag alongside the pledged warriors of eight worlds and the five hundred navigators of house Bolas.

They would stand before the Emperor and beg for his blessing as their patriarch to make war on the void and reunite humanity.

That would be the first moment of the Dawn Knights to be known in the accounts of the Great Crusade.

Of the Emperor granting five of his own household to his fourth-found son and his charge and decree.

To ferry fifteen more of the great Custodes amongst the stars and deliver them to their charges. To meet his brothers and war alongside each before returning to Terra and embarking to war in his own right.

That was the first charge of the Dawn Knights.


	48. Luna's Wolves I

The fleet was a great thing in my own opinion as it carved a bloody path through the warp.

I could almost feel the sea scream as the sizzling hulls of fleet incinerated everything in their path of white.

Authority and Gellar field danced in unison through the engines artificed by the most trusted techpriests of the Emperor's court and the creative genius of Stalwarts.

It had taken years to tune the lesser duplicates of the arcane anchors and even now only the outer shell of the fleet bore the engines. The bronze battle barges and cruisers were the guardian hounds shepherding the great flock of tenders, carriers and freighters of the fleet.

And at their head was the Avalon, the great blade-ship forged from the core of a Gloriana and the flesh of the ancient hulls which had been claimed by time in the shipyards of the scarred lady. The great capital ship the howling tip of the aegis.

I sat in the study of my chambers, a heavy desk of stone against a wall of projectors constantly flickering between different images around the ship. I occasionally looked to them between reviewing the seemingly countless stack of reports and requests involved in managing more than half of a thousand ships.

It was not strictly necessary for me to do so of course, my father had said that only Ferrus Manus of the Tenth had the habit among the three brothers I was to meet. The others were more intent on planning a battle than logistics although Lupercal did maintain final approval in his own forces. Father had been amused by my insistence on taking on the task in his own way.

Father, I did not like the title. It felt too personal for the man and too unfitting, even presumptuous.

You claimed me as your sire in the ritual did you not? He had asked with the blank face he showed in private. Then a proper title is demanded by your custom, I do like to ape the human custom. It is a good measure for morale and one which you would be wise to use with your brothers, they need that familiarity.

I was not so ungrateful or oblivious as to deny the propriety, it was unfitting and assumed a non-existent closeness but it would be hypocritical if I did not do so.

I distracted myself from the thought by speaking to the presence around me.

"How does it fit?" I asked the ship.

There were the standard vox-gargoyles in most of the ship, shaped in the likeness of a young maiden swaying in song.

Not in my chambers, here the vox had been built into the walls, thinner in some hidden segments of the walls to carry the sound of the ship's voice.

"Big," She summarized. Mendicant Onyx had always been the fae tone of a youthful mother in Merlin's voice and it ran through the walls with only a trace of the synthetic devices that generated the voice. "So much room to think, I like it."

"Relief," Merlin's twin voices rang. "It is a relief that we are allowed room to think as well."

"Content yourself with your small body then," Mendicant Onyx sniffed at the remaining brother and sister in the eldritch sword. "But yes Galtine, I am content with this form."

"Good," I nodded as I eyed the monitors and my sons through the projectors.

The Avalon breathed, it took in a breath and collapsed man auxiliary chambers in battle for structural strength. The drill chambers were amongst these, taller than siege automata and wider than a parade field and bare. Most of the more ornate and valuable chambers were within the central frame beneath the primary skeleton of the ship, these were expendable places little more than a pressurized space between external plates.

Hundreds of knights practiced war on each other under the eyes of their commanders, blunted blades and blank shots to aid them adjusting to war against the most formidable foes which I could muster.

In other images were the bladeschools where more of my sons practiced themselves against the combat cages programmed by the Stalwarts with the sum of their knowledge. I held back a chuckle as a squad helped their brother to his feet after he had overestimated the difficulty of a particular routine.

Morygen sparred against her sons in another, blade dancing against blade while she worked her craft with her sons. It was important, the virus had taught love and legend earned respect but that did not translate to knowing her. She needed to prove her skill publically and frequently lest sons die because they had distracted themselves with misplaced fear.

There were more, Seeker Auxilia drilling their formations in heavy armor with blade and rifle. Scholars and Mechanicum pacing around the libraries or the storage chambers where hundreds of warmachines were readied for battle alongside decks of aerial craft.

My favorite sight however were the lectures.

Veterans standing on plinths before their brothers in the archive vaults and speaking at length regarding occult lore and experiences with the aid of projected imagery.

There would be more scholarly legions in all likelihood but I strived to encourage intellectual understanding in the guilds and now my sons. Seekers could never afford to be fools, thousands of years of tradition and circumstance had already sculpted an inquisitive spirit needed to spot and claim treasures. I had merely refined what was already there and passed it to my sons.

I chuckled.

"I am feeling giddy," I smiled. "It feels like a dream."

It would actually be a pleasant surprise to awaken having a dream which was not a nightmare.

I frowned and banished the thought, "How long until realspace breach?"

"Thirty two hours," Mendicant Onyx reported. "Authority radius is stable and speed within satisfactory pace."

The 'Wake' as the techpriests had dubbed it served a twofold purpose, the most obvious was of course to protect from the more fickle aspects of the warp as it cleaved through the Daemonic mind of the warp like molten iron flowing through a vein. The second benefit was of course was the result of cutting such resistance off, speed. By projections the fleet was currently moving at a full half-again the speed of traditional warp transit in as much as it could be measured and with far less unpredictability. That speed could potentially reach three times the pace but that would be impossible with the strain of spreading the bulwark over the rest of the fleet.

Blank or not, I did not want to be in the warp when that sort of strain broke the aegis and we were all murdered in several extradimensional ways.

It was not a perfect process, for one thing it required… invasive treatment of the navigators to safely see through the ways of the Warp over the strain of the Authority and for another were the twin flaws of the Authority itself. The maintenance of the field between jumps was far lengthier than standard warp wind-down and for another it was next to impossible to redirect a jump beyond minor corrections once aimed. The chief Navigator of the fleet had commented that it was more like setting the trajectory of a weapon than steering a ship in the conventional sense.

The comparison of my fleet to a bullet out of the way, I sighed and rose from my throne.

"We might as well start preparing then."

We had a future warmaster to greet.

…

The embarkation deck was a frenzy of activity as last minute preparations continued. Techpriests ran from machine to machine while schools of sleek Servo-skulls hummed around the room, each a mechanical extension of Mendicant's will.

A Stormbird sat at the end of the platform facing the long shaft of launching rails and the towards the integrity fields. The Avalon was unusual for the still-sealed exit gates of the ship beyond the fields.

A raid of Gold veterans were undergoing their final drills under Alten'lo's careful gaze.

An honor guard of sorts.

"It is a bit silly," I sighed.

"Why?" Morygen asked as she looked over it with her stern expression. She wore a suit of artificer plate of baroque aspect that made her sex hard to determine were her head not bare. On the breastplate was a sun crested with a single red eye which stared at the world with contempt.

"You should come with me," I whispered over our private channel.

She shook her head, "No. You need to make a good first impression. If a quarter of what you said is true, he will take me as a sign of weakness. I will fight when we arrive at a world still at war. I'll meet him once I have a notable head in my hand."

She frowned at the joke as my eyes blanked.

"Bad joke," she shook her head. "I will meet him when I get something to brag about."

I shook my head and forced composure.

"You are right," I let out a breath. "Forgive me for the outburst."

She snorted and was about to make a quip as my commanders arrived.

Guildmaster, Praetor, little difference really. The Legion was still skeletal but it would expand with time.

Each wore their color overlayed in the way which Alten'lo wore his gold. They carried Moraltaches and power swords or whatever matter of weapon suited them. Their battle armor was Crusader augmented beyond the standard plate to suit their rank.

Five Guildmasters and an Oathmaster banged a fist against breastplate as they kneeled before me. Each carried a heavy knot-work cloak dyed in bronze and the color of their guild.

"Cairce," I chuckled.

The tallest of them was the only one to not wear the bronze beyond a sun over the breastplate. The giant among Astartes smiled with a childish aspect horribly misplaced on a handsome titan.

"I can at least participate until this point, no?" His voice was still disarmingly soft but now also with a crushing depth. "No need for fear, I would rather not be slain out of hand after going through so much trouble."

Trystane snorted and shook his shoulder length mane of silver and blonde. My old friend almost resembled the image I had for a Blood Angel or a Child of the Emperor than one of my own. "You could always take my place."

"I eagerly await one of you making us look like fools before the Sixteenth," Dinada sighed while rolling his eyes. His eyes had turned a radiant silver by the change. They rather reflected the grim steel of the man.

"More reason to be glad of my absence, no?" Cairce chuckled. A new name and body had not changed his disconcerting stare and sharp humor.

"I still say you should come," Tor Galath let out a good-natured laugh, the Sapphire lord kept his hair tied into the braid of his region still. "It promises to be amusing."

"I would be much happier to go to see what a startled Astartes," Trystane barked a laugh of his own

The only one that remained quiet was Percivale save for the endless rolling of his eyes. He was always the most serious of my council but the banter always drew his mock annoyance.

The newest among then had a terrain decade as my council.

I repressed a frown, finding a master for the Silver would be difficult tedious.

"If you are done quarreling," I chuckled. "We might as well continue, I would not keep my brother waiting."

...

The world had been known as Avarum, a world of ice and wicked cold that turned flesh to dead frost within seconds of exposure.

Reality distended in the void.

It twisted and contorted as the space distended and bulges outward where there was nothing.

Stretching thin and beginning to rip like breaking web to reveal the white mass beneath.

The force tore its way clean of the shell of reality, weaving only glimpses of a slaughtered hell behind it as reality knit together again in its wake.

Authority faded as the white rippled out around dozens of bronze ships as the shell broke into non-existence around the main bulk of a great beast of steel with a thousand bodies.

The fleet entered reality like a creature breaking free of its cocoon.

The ships drifted into a new formation as they advanced towards the orbit of the cold sphere beyond them.

They flew with the perfect coordination of a pack of beasts obeying the will of their alpha, the great bronze-gold hull of the Avalon.

As they flew the hails came from another, larger pack which hung in the low orbit of the world.

The Expeditionary Fleet of the Sixteenth Legion.

A thousand ships like supplicants around the queen of the fleet. The massive hull of the Avalon's sister.

The Vengeful Spirit.


	49. Luna's Wolves II

It was a refreshingly human thing to be nervous.

I found myself nervously checking my warplate from where I stood on the Stormbird.

The armor itself was a gift.

A gift wrought after I gave my father Calyburne at his request.

He had returned it with a gift.

The plate was silver. Silver save far the sunburst on my pauldrons and breastplate. Along its bulk were layer over layer of symbols and imprints of banding and lattice work which invoked hidden meanings of my homeworld. All seven Guild brands circled the sunbursts.

It hummed as Stalwart Sapphire shifted in its architecture and adjusted it.

I was curious how the Emperor understood the technology well enough to build that architecture in the first place but I never asked. His answers were always terrifying in implication or mystifying in fact.

At least my discomfort was private behind my war mask.

It invoked the imagery of the ancient Terran Visored Barbute in style. The brow of the helm raised upward into the shape of into a sun crest centered with the red eye.

I had considered not wearing it.

Horus would be granted it and Sanguinius would someday bear it as well (or an incredibly similar stylization of the Blood Angel sigil, I had never seen a clarification). It had no meaning save to the Emperor's council and it would be so for centuries.

I suspected that it would anger some of my brothers and I was worried it might earn hostility if I was not careful.

I turned to the Custodians which stood like solemn statues at my sides.

"You seem quiet Fabius," The Shield-Captain turned his tall helm towards me.

"We were speaking with regards to the nature of the soul, Lord Ailbe." He explained.

I found it bitterly ironic that the Custodian that had felt the need to clarify the honor of my legion had been assigned to head my Legates Imperator.

I had not expected Maclador to interpret my view regarding visible showings of authority seriously or to convince the Emperor that this was a fine idea.

Nominally they were a show of support and advisors but the Custodians did not seem particularly pleased with arrangement as near as I could tell. I supposed that it was a rather disappointing task to be given such an assignment.

I had taken the time to learn their names of course.

Fabius Ellegua was the leader of my of Legates Imperator. Philosophical even by the standards of the Custodian and ferocious about repaying favors. He was the only one that seemed that interested in conversing every now and then.

Anahit, Terminus, Phoebe and Pyrrhus were all as interesting as blocks but I had bothered to memorize what I could about them.

Horus's guards were not known to me beyond their Shield-Captain Remus Osiris. I was almost certain that the affable man had been chosen at least in part for the sake of irony. Guard a Horus with an Osiris.

I sighed at the debate.

"Which aspect?" I asked curiously.

"The degree to which a whole can be divided before it ceases to be part of the greater," He answered.

"Ah," I nodded while glaring within my warhelm.

I was grateful that the pilot chimed that they were undergoing final docking procedures.

Custodians were an acquired taste.

I hoped.

…

One of the embarkation decks of the flagship had been entirely cleared for the ceremonial meeting between the two Primarchs.

Imperial banners hung along the vault, all victories of the legion and their Auxilia represented along the walls.

The entire first company had been assembled as an honor guard.

Two unwavering blocks of white-plated Astartes stood with their bolters in parade position and red-eyed helms standing forward.

The front line of the company was a thin line of warriors in reinforced armor painted blacker than pitch.

I was minutely thankful that for the ritual of Calengwag, I had long learned the composure that kept me from fearing that I would trip over myself.

The first to disembark were the Knight-Raid of with their bolters held against their chests and long blades at their sides. They walked in rows of ten until they reached their tenth row, there they stopped before turning neatly on their heels and marched until a path was made towards the Stormbird.

The five Guildmasters advanced next, each with a sword of pale, keening steel raised before them as the walked in three lines of two.

They split at the end of the formation in a forward arrow split along the path. They then sheathed their swords in a smooth motion.

Both chambers of Custodians walked forwards in a single file, their Shield-Captains marching behind their standard bearers. Both were towering effigies of the Eye of Terra, crimson orbs staring out to all present. They were not identical due to a single difference.

One eyes was trailed in trails of tear-like markings while the other bore a crescent moon in silver thread beneath the eye.

They marched last the final Dawn Knights and stopped at precise middle between both formations before splitting horizontally and marching until both Eyes of Terra stood in the middle of the room. Each banner bearer flanked by both two fellows.

It was my turn then.

I walked alone down the ramp of the vehicle, Calyburne at my sides and the quiet hum of the armor accompanying the echoing steps of my steel-shod feet.

No sooner had I laid foot on the ship that my steps were met by a twin set of steps. He matched my 'confident' pace step by step.

I could see him at the head of his line of officers and scholars.

They wore white like the rest of their kind with great mantels of crimson silk and heavy furs over their warplate.

Terminator armor was decades if not centuries away from development so he wore armor that no Astartes could hope to match. The polished white plates were bordered by aurumite, overlapping in style which gave him a baroque grandeur not unlike that of our father. The Lupercal sprouted from his chestplate and other segments of his armor in reminder of his favor.

On his breast was an array of metals and symbols marking world's brought in through the force of his raw magnetism rather than his military might.

I recalled every description I had read of Horus. From Loken's glorious commander to Typhus's contrast with his dark sire. They spoke of the ideal genius, of life made incarnate.

They all fell short, they fell short of describing what he was.

His presence was like a sun in and of itself but not the annihilating might of our father. He was the distant sun on a spring day. He was the merciful warmth after a cruel winter. He brightened the heart of all around him with the suggestion of a smile and the reassuring glimmer in his eyes.

No, those words did not capture him anymore than one could describe death, time or catch the sun with a net. Language itself was an inadequate tool.

He was infinitely less than father but that was an impossible standard to surpass.

He had not a hair on his head, strong jawed, sharp cheekbones and straight nosed.

He walked as easily as if he were on a leisurely walk down his gardens.

He wore armor as easily as if it were a simple sheath.

I tried to match his stride as best as I could, I knew that Primarchs were innately overwhelming but not so much to each other.

Yet there I was, more than a little impressed and trying to make a good impression.

I was reassured by the presence of my sons, their eyes on me like supporting hands.

My walk became more comfortable as I passed my six. They caught onto my step as I formed the tip of the triangle and it moved with me.

We came to a stop at a pace with Horus under the banners of our father.

"So you are my brother then," He had a soft, quiet voice that drew every soul in the chamber with every syllable.

A strange confidence flowed into me at his words and I blinked as the presence almost receded. I raised both hands to unlock my armor and pulled off the helm.

He was perhaps a centimeter shorter than me.

He was my brother, there were similarities in our features.

He was not some distant god, he was my _equal_.

That realization let me stare back at him with a grin which would have fit Trystane better

"Indeed I am!" I barked a laugh and held out a hand. "I am Galtine Ailbe, Gene-Father of the Second. I am glad to meet you, White Wolf and I would embrace you as my brother!"

Where had that come from?

Horus did not give me time to express my surprise as Horus's smile widened and his head tilted upward to roar out a bellowing laugh made more extreme by its normally soft tone.

"White Wolf!" He laughed loudly and took my hand with a great force which I matched as we pulled each other into an armored embrace. He pulled back with a wide smile. "Hah! I like that my brother! I have been rather cross at our brother Leman for taking our style! "

His legion clearly shared the sentiment because they started echoing the idiotic name.

"White Wolf!"

"White Wolf!"

"And they like it!" Horus laughed again. "Oh, I do so look forward to warring alongside yet another of my kin!"

"And you are as bombastic as expected," I chuckled while wondering why the words were coming so easily.

Horus stopped and raised a great brow, "That I am! And proud of it!"

"As you will," I shrugged with unexpected ease. "But do not expect me to not poke at it, I am looking forward to having brothers and what is a brother without ribbing?"

The Lupercal laughed robustly before turning to one of his men, "It seems I will have need of you, Berabaddon! A bit more sanguine, can't have us getting outwitted now!"

"Oh, I think that I can manage it," chuckled one of his shorter doppelgangers with dark hair.

"Oh?" Trystane tilted his helm in interest. "Is that a challenge?"

"Did it sound like a challenge?" The Mournival asked. "Probably because it was, unless you are too knightly for a bit of humor?"

Trystane answered with a low laugh laced with anticipation and I could feel his five brothers roll their eyes as one with various levels of amusement and annoyance.

That was my first meeting with Horus Lupercal.

Unfortunately, Horus liked the accidental nickname (much to Russ's annoyance) and it would stick among his monikers.

That was not what I had intended to be my first ripple in this world.

I was not sure if that was a good beginning or not.

…

The commander was great.

That had long been plain to any of the Luna wolves.

But that day had reassured them of that truth.

Every Primarch had their own presence. A unique imprint on the world which forced itself on any to behold them.

That became clearer and clearer to the Luna Wolves as their commander met more of his kind.

The so-called Great Wolf was winter, a predator which stalked where other walked, whose every word was the warning of a great beast. He the cold truth of their inferiority, of the cruel fate of ancient men in Terran winter as they wandered through ancient forests stalked by far greater beasts.

Ferrus Manus was steel, unbending and unbreaking strength tempered by a fury that threatened to lay waste to all in his path. By his hands came wonders which made any other craftsman an unlearned child like an avatar of industry and might.

Now they had seen the Second.

Galtine Ailbe was a calming presence, a quiet hum to their master's radiance and their brother's thunder. A gentle reassurance that ate away at tension and threatened to lure them into restful oblivion. His grey eyes were like mirrors which reflected back a stronger, more vital version of the beholder and his laughter was a good-natured thing without any trace of aggression in it.

The Second was too warm, too approachable where the Sixth and the Tenth were a cruel sort of distant. Only their commander struck the right balance, warm but grander than any human encapsulation.

His sons were of a kind, quick to laugh and slow to anger. They spoke freely and energetically after their master was retired along with the commander and their respective inner circles.


	50. Luna's Wolves III

"Legates Imperator?" Horus read from the freshly unsealed parchment of the decree with laughter creeping into his voice.

"It is the will of the Emperor that we stand sentinel over your life Lord Lupercal," Remus did not incline his head but at least removed his helm in respect. I idly tried to pick out the signs of alterations on his smooth face, black eyes and brown locks while he spoke.

I had only picked out eight since he had begun speaking.

The Primarch looked at his for a moment before laughing and offering a smile which would have won the hearts of a nation, "This is welcome new, I have missed my father."

Remus made the sign of the Aquilla, "The Emperor assures you that he will rejoin the fleet soon."

That was hardly a surprise, I still recalled that my father and brother had stayed at each other's side pretty constantly over the course of the first few decades of the crusade, he had not even stayed on Terra for all seven of my years with him. I still felt the bruises from Malcador's lessons in dealing in psykers creative enough to avoid attempting direct force on a Blank. I had little doubt that the Sigilite had been taking out quite a bit of pent up frustration on me for the sins of my brothers. It had certainly been instructive at least, few others probably knew the best way to break a fall when flung off of the battlements of the imperial palace after having a rhino frown at you.

Granted, it was probably not a terribly useful skill unless one could survive that impact initially.

I had also grown used to running out of collapsing buildings, disabling dominated cultists and dodging lightning.

Fortunately my less-than-dignified memories were private while Horus was busy laughing his pleasure at the Emperor's impending return.

"Wonderful news," Horus's tone lost some of its volume as he regarded the Custodian. "I acknowledge your charge Shield-Captain, I would ask you to step outside however. Your position is respected but I would have words with my brother to mark our meeting."

The Custodian held his gaze for another moment speaking.

"Well shall await at the door," The golden warrior nodded before turning and marching out with his comrades.

"The rest of you as well," Horus waved to the rest of the court.

"My Lord?" Asked a straight-backed Astartes ironically named Maloghurst the Twisted. I did not have any hard feelings towards the man for his later role, he had a difficult and necessary job which others judged him for. I could respect that.

"I would be allowed a word with my brother," Horus smiled and turned to me. "I am sure that your men would enjoy a tour of the finest ship in the fleet."

"Of course," I smiled. "It is merely a shame that you are sending them back to my Avalon."

That got a round of laughs wonder of wonders, which Horus joined in, "I do of course mean my ship Galtine."

I raised a brow, I knew that my face tended to resort to complete neutrality not unlike father except when I emoted. I envied that Horus was ironically able to be less mercurial in expression than myself. "Well then I am sure my men will be pleased for the opportunity. Is that right?"

"It would be an honor, my father," Alten'lo nodded at the lead of my Guildmasters. It amused me that my old Legion Master had managed to become the speaker of the group to outsiders, when Trystane and Tor Galath managed to hold their tongues.

The small progression marched out of the room as a neat unit while we waited in silence until the great bronze-ringed ivory gates yawned as they shut.

"I notice that they call you father," the future warmaster's voice evened to a calm tremor against the ground.

I shrugged, "They are our children by any appreciable vector, I could call them 'shorter-men-who-happen-to-share-my-genetic-code-to-a-considerably-degree'. It is a touch unwieldly however."

Lupercal offered a slight smile.

"I thought that you would be grimmer," He confessed.

"And I thought your head would shine," I countered with a half-grin.

He looked at me with confusion before shaking his head, "You seem set on ruining the formality of our first meeting, Ferrus was quite formal about it."

"Calengwag breeds ritual," I admitted. "But I can hardly be formal with my own brother, more so in private."

He looked at me with amusement, "Your humors must be a fascinating thing, you seem to have an unhealthy excess of Sanguine and the Melancholic."

"And far too many of your men have an unhealthy fondness for excessively tall topknots," I pointed out.

That actually got a surprised blink of shock.

I smiled widely as I continued, "I am certain that there had been at least a single point in your legion's history where a legionary has smacked on of the things on a low roof."

"Hrn… huh… hah… Hahahaha!" The Sixteenth fell into a deep laugh as he rested a propped his elbow over one of the arms of his throne and put his laughing face to his hand.

"To be fair," I continued in deadpan while the Sixteenth laughed. "I am almost certain that every one of us has a battery of flaws which actively impair our effectiveness."

"Ah," the White Wolf of Luna took a breath. "Were you not my brother, I would be calling for your head for that mockery. In truth, I would do the same were it Russ or Manus. Strangely enough, I do see any heat to your words."

"Then I return home with my head attached," I said with a theatrical bow. "I must thank you brother for not orphaning my legion and making my wife a widow."

I was not entirely sure if Horus was amused or simply utterly bemused by my behaviour after his encounters with our brothers.

"You are an odd one," He finally decided. "Although I should have guessed as much from your taking a wife like a mortal."

"And odd Primarch," I raised my brow again while unlatching a container from my side and unsealing it. "Is that not like saying that a star is warm?"

I smiled again as I offered him the great bottle of crimson liquid, he looked at it with some amusement.

He snorted as he observed the bottle with interest, "You bring me spirits?"

"Of a sort," I said with a conspiratorial expression. "Something I produced with a great deal of… well, let us say testing no?"

"Oh?" Horus smiled as he uncorked it and sniffed it. He immediately raised both brows in surprise.

"It took some time to tailor it to our physiology," I admitted. "I am relatively certain that it could also be used as a melta bomb if need be so I would not advise you to throw it."

Horus laughed and took a drink with a lusty chug.

…that was ill advised as he immediately bent over coughing.

"I should have advised you that I erred on the side of the strong," I chuckled as he took a breath.

"I am suddenly thankful for our privacy ," My brother laughed between coughs as caught himself.

"I am told that alcohol is a good binding agent for humans," I smiled as I pulled one of the seats closer to the throne and stretched out a hand. "So, let us drink my brother?"

Horus gave me another look before passing me the potentially murderous container. "This is going to be interesting."

…

Why did they keep over-reaching?

Trystane wondered about that as he struck the captain's sword arm at the wrist from beneath before striking the back of his leg with a twirl with his heel in time to bring the edge to stop at the jugular of the Luna wolf as he fell to a knee.

"Yield?" He asked without a hint of amusement.

He had tried amusement on the last two, but he was certain that they had not taken it in stride.

The scarred and frankly ugly man nodded and Trystane pulled back his blade and offered his other hand.

"A good fight," He said with an earnest smile. It was a lie of course, the first fight had been fun but then he realized that this was a farce.

He was Guildmaster, at least a match to a Praetor of other legions (although he understood that the Luna Wolves had no truly permanent organization). Yet he was being faced by captains and sergeants of the lower ranks.

He flashed a toothy smile at Alten'lo and made his tone playful, "They think that I am an unblooded child?"

"That much is obvious," Dinada observed as he scanned the wolves with his eyes.

The Calengwag tongue was apparently considered a difficult variant of High Gothic so it lent itself well to situations such as these, it was not as if their hosts could complain as they were murmuring amongst themselves in Cthonic.

Trystane knew that he was not a prideful creature, but he did have to withhold a disappointed breath. He had been excited at the prospect of facing Astartes of other legions, warriors of great skill against which to measure himself.

You are too bloodthirsty, Iseult had prodded him many years ago. There are better things to do than violence for its own sake.

I did and you died for it, Trystane felt his smile falter for a moment before he crushed the thought and affected his smile and looked to the wolves beyond the practice cage. It was the last place where he would let that surface.

"If we are done," He said politely. "I fear that I grow weary from matching so many great warriors."

He hoped that had not sounded condescending, if it did then he would end up having to face every damned legionary until either the stars died or his body did.

"One more," Came a booming voice as a giant among Astartes (shorter than Cairce but that was hardly fair) striped to his entered the cage and slammed the button for the seal with a blade in his other hand.

If his raw bulk did not reveal the First Captain then the foot of topknot would.

Trystane felt a smile pull its way up his face.

They are finally taking me seriously, He chuckled as he lowered his stance. "First Captain."

He almost purred the words.

"Guildmaster," He growled while dipping his head.

And he even remembered that I have a rank, Trystane chuckled. Progress!

"And now I am envious," Morien shook his head wistfully before hitting a hand on the cage. "I consider this a theft of a good fight, brother! A round when we get back to the ship is good repayment, yes?"

Trystane snorted as he and the giant Astartes circled each other, "Assuming I still have hands to reach for my coin purse? Of course, brother!"

The First Captain made the first move, he came charging forward with speed surprising for one of his bulk.

Trystane weaved out of the way and went for his standard tactic only for the First Captain to pull his sword back and swing downwards with speed that almost caught Trystane only for him to push back in time and jump back a few meters.

As they resumed circling each other Trystane chuckled, "You were watching."

"Of course I was," Abaddon spit to the side. "I am only ashamed that the gambit worked so well."

"Standard legion training does not favor disarming strikes," Trystane pointed out. "Duels to first blood are not uncommon in my homeland."

Voidspawn also tended to not expect attacks away from their center mass but that was aside from the point.

Abaddon grunted and lowered himself to a defensive stance much to Trystane's pleasant surprise.

He could of course not deny to invitation, so he charged with a laugh on his lips.

Not the way one would expect to start a centuries long friendship but that was the way with Astartes.

What a fun change.


	51. Luna's Wolves IV

Spars in the practice cages tended to last a minute, sometimes as many as four.

The finest duels lasted for minutes more with some exceptional ones reaching ten minutes if not more.

The First Captain and Guildmaster had been striking at each other for well over two hours.

Training blades were fracturing against each other as the two men danced in circles of steel and flesh, a storm of sparking blows arcing out from their meetings. There had been no more pauses or hesitation, it was a dizzying tempo which only rose as both men adjusted to each other and reacted faster and faster to feints and gambits, the style of each becoming more and more the perfect counter to the other's.

But both men were evenly matched, where Trystane was faster Abaddon was stronger, where Abaddon was more resilient Trystane was more evasive. Every time one went for a winning blow the other would either step out of the way in the final heartbeat or parry the blade away with gene-crafted strength.

The men beyond the cages were laughing and whooping at the fight ringing in the cage, Luna Wolves and Dawn Knights alike surrounded the hemispheres of the cage with cheers, howls and clapping.

Trystane's smile threatened to reach his ears as his ducks, twirls and feints were matched with the furious strikes and masterful bladework of the First Captain.

For his part, the First Captain's face was a grim line as his eyes darted about the duel, looking for any opening which he might exploit.

They had long passed the point of risk, both were too consumed by the battle before them to take note of the concerned expressions of the higher echelons which watched the battle.

It had become a test of endurance now, a grinding wait until luck or fatigue stopped one of them.

"I wonder which will win?" Dinada asked with some curiosity.

"Trystane will be insufferably pleased for the day regardless of the outcome," Alten'lo shook his grey mane. His younger brothers shook their head with some tired acceptance.

It was a matter of which would break first, either side of the filled bladeschool was shouting assurance that their own champion would emerge triumphant.

The two did not seem to take notice, they were solely interested in their opponent and blade.

"But I think I see the victor," The former Legion Master admitted.

"You see it too, brother?" Percivale whispered, his glassy voice cutting through the noise of the men like a blade. His cobalt eyes were locked onto the blades in the hands of each.

"Their blades will break before either of them does," Alten'lo confirmed. "Whoever breaks first will be the defeated."

"Both will lose," The quietest of the masters added while looking to the blades. Percivale rare wasted words and it was even more rare for him to make a mistaken comment.

The duelists were matching their blades along differing lengths of the blades in an attempt to ease strain but it was too late now for those efforts.

Every Astartes felt the build towards the end of the fight, the weapons would not be able to withstand much more and their holders already breathed heavy from crashing against a similarly inhuman force.

The end came as Abaddon unleashed a final, explosive blow as he parried a cut which would have cleaved the head from a lesser warrior. His blade coming down with a savagery which would have bit into Trystane's neck like an axe and cleave him in half.

Trystane moved with sublime speed to catch the hilt of the blade and use the giant's own might to turn it aside.

Screeching filled the room as Trystane's blade shattered from the force even as Abaddon's own sword fragmented at the hilt.

Trystane kicked himself back with acrobatic grace while Abaddon cast the blade aside.

They did not hear the explosive cheering from the long-winded duel as black eyes bore into blue.

"You broke the swords," He accused with a growl.

"It was the swords or the arms," Trystane chuckled as he pulled one arm back and lowered himself into a favored stance. "Ready?"

The rest of the room fell silent at that. Both of the men were covered in scabbed-over wounds and breathing heavily from a battle that would have had most Space Marines on their knees.

Abaddon looked at him for a moment before smiling. The grin on his lips was an ugly thing more akin to a predator's warning than a human emotion.

He adjusted eased himself down, spacing his legs more evenly and rolling his fingers into adamantium-rending fists. "Not a coward at least."

"I am also not exceptionally bright," Trystane chuckled with lunatic excitement in his eyes. "I am told that it helps."

He did not waste another word before lunging at the First Captain. Unarmed and unclad they seemed less warriors and more the fever dreams of ancient gods. The Luna Wolf's stance made his massive frame almost cyclopean, solid a statue devoted to an ancient war god. The knight was instead a quicksilver blur of motion, moving like a shadow given substance.

The martial schools of Calengwag against the savage gang traditions of Cthonia clashed as their champions did.

They grappled at each other for another hour as more and more Luna Wolves forced their way through the sea of their brothers to attempt to get a look at the fight which would be spoken of for years to come while the now heavily outnumbered Dawn Knights kept their small bastion to one side of the cage.

There was a sea of triumphant roars as Abaddon landed a brutal jab into Trystane's side, cracking the bone-shield beneath followed by a storm of curses as the Guildmaster used the force of the blow to dislocate the offending wrist with a savage lock. The Dawn Knights laughed as their champion returned the blow that he been dealt by delivering a shattering kick to the First Captain's shin before shouting as Abaddon used the chance break an arm.

It continued for three more hours until the men were reduced to bloody heaps of scabbed flesh, mending bone and feral laughter from broken lips.

It would be a point of contest for decades to come whether it was the First Captain or the Guildmaster who fell first.

The sole point of agreement was that whoever had won, they had only stood for a fraction of a second before collapsing themselves.

…

"He threw you off the ramparts?" Horus asked in surprise before bursting into laughter. "HAHAHA! I am suddenly grateful not to be on the old man's list!"

"It is considerably less enjoyable than it sounds," Not many people had probably seen Horus even just a touch tipsy, neither of us was foolish enough to drink to excess but it was hilarious to see a Primarch genuinely drink.

"My condolences brother," Horus had moved into the style quickly. Horus was a touch easier to get along with than most if for no other reason than that he was more committed to the idea of us being kin than many Primarchs. "More so if you are truly made to hunt witches, savage things. My own Psykers are impressive in the heat of war when they take on the choleric."

"I am utterly certain that he meant well with it," He had actually been stone-faced throughout the whole ordeal, quipping a touch here and there. It was the sheer creativity the had convinced me that he found it amusing.

"Then you are kinder than I," Horus settled into a smile as his eyes sobered. "I confess that I am eager to fight alongside you brother, Russ and Manus can be much at times."

"Do not remind me," I sighed. "I am almost positive that I will be dueling one to the death in a decade's time."

"How so?" Horus asked with a charming smile.

"Because one of the two will inevitably slight me with regards to my choosing a mate," I smiled with some guilt. "There are few better ways to anger me I admit."

It was a genuine sentiment, but I also knew that few things built closeness with Horus like confiding in him.

He scuffed while taking another sip, "Father has approved of her, has He not? I do not pretend to know better than Him."

"Hmm," I hummed. "I admit that I have not thought of it that way."

"I do hope that her absence is not due to any such concerns?" He tapped his armoured fingers on his throne. "I admit that I had taken it as a slight that she was not present."

"She shared my concerns," I shrugged. "She said that you were more likely to welcome her if she had a few heads in hand."

That earned another deep laugh.

"Your point is taken," I laughed. "I will bring the whole Round next time we meet."

"The Round?" He asked with curiosity.

"A suggestion by our father," I explained. "My senior advisors, the heads of my Guilds, Auxilia, Mechanicum, Titan Legion and Navigators."

I was almost certain that he was making a reference with that, it had not been my choice but he had gifted me the massive marble table that sat in the Strategium of the Avalon and mentioned the title in public. It was less a suggestion than an order in retrospect.

"Then bring them all!" Horus bowed his head in mock-grandeur that made a joke of most monarchs' finest efforts. "I would meet those that follow my brothers!"

I snorted in amusement before accepting the bottle and taking another swig.

"I admit a fondness for this drink," Horus commented as he accepted it back. "I admit that the concoctions that the Sixth and Tenth drink are potent but they are a bit lacking in taste."

"Honestly its properties as a liquor were second to finding a taste properly suited to one of our make," I shrugged. "The alcohol makes it volatile but I would be more wary of would be the risk of sensory overload in an Astartes."

"You become stranger by the word brother," Horus said while eyeing the near-empty bottle.

"There is more on my ship," I offered. "It would be an honor to introduce you and yours to my own Round."

Horus smiled, "You are a curious one but I cannot deny that this seems like a pleasant idea. We will have precious little to do but feast and drill our men until next we come to a new world."

I smiled earnestly and was about to speak before the vox came to life.

"My Primarch," The Twisted Equerry's voice rang. "I would recommend that you and Lord Ailbe come to Bladeschool 12."

I looked at him with a raised brow while Horus Eased himself up from his throne.

"Maloghurst is not in the habit of summoning me unless it is worth the sight," He explained while rolling an armored shoulder. "I do hope that our sons have not entered some childish squabble."

"It is the role of a parent to correct his young?" I shrugged as I pulled myself up. "It should be interesting if nothing else."

…

"See?" I chuckled. "Interesting."

Horus cocked a brow at me before smiling and shaking his head in amusement.

The bladeschool had been cleared of all save for the Mournival, Maloghurst and my Guildmasters.

Most of use were forming a ring around three figures.

Trystane and Abaddon were laughing as a rather amused Morien directed a healing mist around them to accelerate the mending of their bones and muscle.

"I had just invited my brother to a feast you know," I sighed.

"Great news," Trystane laughed. "I find myself starving."

Dinada shook his head before looking up at me, "Can we leave him here?"

"No," Horus shook his head solemnly. "I have need of my First Captain and I am leaving them alone again will just leave a mess."

Another round of laughs punctuated the meeting.


	52. Luna's Wolves V

"What is that sound?" Horus frowned as the Stormbirds entered their final docking procedures.

"The Authority," I explained. "Not that different form what is keeping you from trying to strangle me!"

I laughed while tapping my collar, there was far more to it and fundamentally different design philosophies, components and science but the principal was the same.

"You underestimate me brother," Horus met me with a confident look. "I have spent time in the presence of our father's Null Maidens but your point is taken, I suppose that this does explain a great deal as to my astropaths' confusion."

"It is a novel technology," I shrugged. "Although I admit that it is a little tedious to use."

"I would like to hear more of it," Horus said as the thud of the ships landing echoed beneath our armored soles.

Something seemed to amuse Horus as we neared disembarked.

"I was mistaken," Horus commented as we descended the ramp.

"How so?" I asked.

His broad, thin-lipped smile curled up to reveal perfect teeth, "You are doubtlessly like the rest of us."

"Fair," I admitted. I had to give the man credit, he was already adapting to my personality. A sharp tongue and trading barbed comments were the way to my heart certainly enough. "My people are fond of ritual, I would not disrespect my own kin by showing you my home so casually."

I had not said a word beyond a general warning actually but it was true that there was a certain rudeness to not rolling out the veritable red carpet when welcoming kin to one's home after a long absence.

It was not surprising that Morygen had reacted the way she had to the news and prepped Reception Deck 16 for the occasion.

Most Imperial ships took a very simple stance towards deployment, most ships had a small number of embarkation decks which could serve just about any purpose with some squinting. The Avalon had approximately twenty-nine Reception Decks, seven Embarkation Decks and a dozen different other sub-designations serving different purposes.

Reception decks were made to appeal to the customs Calengwag, vast chambers designed to receive specific sorts of delegations (which for obvious reasons meant that a number of decks were carefully sealed for the time being). They were made to appeal to the symbolism of Calengwag with ample room for change once there was a better grip on given cultures.

Cthonia was surprisingly easy to research if one put their mind to hunting the few volumes written on the subject (granted a Cthonian scholar had taken the Fear Gorta years to 'acquire').

Cthonian Gang markings were carefully integrated into guild patterns and emblems down the dimly-lit deck before a great wall, a strong secondary feature to the overlaid Imperial Aquilla which dominated everything else with its cyclopean scale over the wall.

"I am impressed," Horus commented, slipping into the harsh gang-tongue experimentally. "Most do not bother to learn of hard Cthonia."

I could hear the ears of the Luna Wolf companies marching alongside us, only my Guildmasters had joined me on the white Stormbird while the others disembarked elsewhere in the great ship.

"I had to do something constructive with my time," I chuckled. "Well, that is not strictly true, father worked me ragged. But I wanted to make the effort."

I had not gotten anything on the Fenris from the singers I had acquired but I was fluent in the customs of Medusa.

Horus gave me an evaluating look before inclining his head minutely as we neared a gate of interlocking Sunbursts and Wolves over moons. "A kind gesture, I fear you will have to be more careful in the future. I do not think that poor Maloghurst can handle it."

"I am, my Primarch," Said Equerry bowed his head from where he walked on the left of Horus.

"I merely jest, Maloghurst," Horus lied with a pleasant smile.

Said spymaster seemed on the verge of giving himself a stroke as his eyes scanned the walls as the gates unwound themselves. I supposed that the man was probably drawing a negative conclusion from the well-meaning gesture. I had predicted that possibility but I was not beyond stubbornness and it was a matter of respect. Thirty Terran years was more than enough time for an appreciation of that custom to etch itself on me. Beyond that actually, I was a cumulative eighty-seven years old if one counted the experiences grafted onto my soul. That much time of one's life was enough time for any home to take root into the soul.

To show understanding of another was respectful as was showing one's own nature. The Emperor's charge forced enough secrecy on us for us to be willing to defer from that custom.

Past the gates awaited a high-vaulted feasting hall with emblems reinforced across its tall pillars and the grand murals of ceilings. At the heart of the chamber was an eclipse, a crescent moon over a sun caught in the wings of a great two-headed bird of prey.

"You know brother," Horus commented as his eyes traced the chamber. "I will need to learn your tongue now, a matter of principle."

Can't have the diplomat getting out-diplomat-ed, as my wife would say. I could all but hear the designs being drawn up behind my brother's interested gave.

"I would welcome you on Calengwag if ever have the time," I smiled. "I could teach you if you like."

I was curious if he would perceive that as weakening his place as the elder or if he would take it in the spirit with which it was offered.

"Only if you allow me to teach you proper Cthonic," He took on a conspiratory tone. "Your tone is a bit stuffy, brother."

I might have flushed if I was mortal but instead I gave a sheepish smile, "We have an accord then."

The chamber entry way we walked down was lined by elements of even Guild, armed and clad for war to match the companies of Luna Wolves which marched behind us. Bronze and cinnabar against ivory and midnight.

At the end of the flanking columns was Morygen and the remainder of the Round, representing the major forces of the fleet as well as my councilors.

Caice stood to her right in his black armor with a wide, close-eyed smile on his face. He spoke for both the Spirit-Eaters and (unofficially) the Fear Gorta. He had taken to the formal ranks with amusement but given that I held the oaths of Order's council, there was little room to dispute my decision.

Sect-Master Igreyne of the Seeker Auxilia stood to Morygen's left. Like all of the Sect-Masters of the Auxilia, Igreyne was a woman although that characteristic was lost under the layers of crimson-striped Powered Armor and her own hard features. She spoke for the mortal components of the Guilds in the fleet reflected by the seven-hued medallion hanging from her throat suspended by the many-hued cords of her knotwork necklace. The Aquillas branded over he cheeks reflected her oaths to the Imperium.

Arch-Magistrix Kagu'Tsuchi of the Mechanicum was second to the right. Her form was one of the taller forms present among the Round, a spindly form of red robes reach a head over even the Astartes present. Her only visible trait was human face that emerged from the robes too far from her shoulders, the face of a maiden in the full spring of her life perfectly etched in lines of gold and bronze matched with polished opals for eyes. She was the representative for the Mechanicum forces present among the fleet (her own sway within the cult raising its size considerably) and my personal… proof-reader.

It continued like that, second to the left was Chief Navigator Megaera Bolas. High Astropath Kerukeion, Fleet-Master Ningishzida, Princeps Amarok and Lord-Elect Tamuzen all stood along the flanks of the augmented Seeker.

"I am not familiar with those augmentations," Horus whispered under his breath as we neared them. Quiet enough that his expression did not shift and no one else would have heard.

I did not need to know what he meant.

"A necessity for the fleet," I offered.

He referred to the psykers among the Round.

The High Astropath of the fleet wore a long cloak over a sheath that left his arms exposed, he had opted to maintain an elderly appearance and wore his weathered for well. Kerukeion's shaven head was crowned ten horns of golden-sheathed steel no more than an inch in height from his pale head matched by two thin strips grafted beneath his blinded eyes and jutting from his chin over a kindly expression. His arms were bared to show six long receptors rising along their near-skeletal lengths matched by four more rising squarely from his back. The set of augmentations were matched by the tall staff he held himself against.

Where he was a stooped shape against Megaera's straight frame despite her being no taller than five feet in height. Her platinum mane was interspersed was peaked by two great horns reaching a half-foot from her brow and framing the golden plate that dominated her brow like an ornate forehead plate rounded over where her third eye rested. Her flowing gown only hinted at the lengthy set of interlocking golden plates running down her entire neck and torso before vanishing into her wide skirts of emerald. The woman's natural and augmented beauty was somewhat reduced by the sever frown on her face as the slight wrinkling of her lips. She stood with proper poise, but my eyes could see the tensing of someone wanting to cross their arms.

It gave the psykers a strange sort of otherworldly beauty in my own opinion, the mystic and the satyr.

At least that had been my hope, it had taken months to properly see to the few thousand psykers among the fleet and many were still awaiting augmentation before assuming their duties.

Morygen stepped forward as we came to a stop before them and bowed formally before us.

"Morygen of house Ailbe," I walked between them and pointed down to her. "Horus of the Imperial Household, also called the Lupercal. It is my honor by tie of blood and oath to acquaint both of you."

"An honor, brother of my beloved." Morygen's accent had none of the flowing accent of Calengwag, she had spent decades before the Imperium came to Terra to copy the accent that had been imprinted into my mind. There was no hint of anything other than pure certainty as she looked up to meet his eyes squarely. "I offer you welcome to my hearth."

"Madame," Horus smiled and in what I was beginning to suspect was typical fashion, fell to one knee before the kneeling woman and offered his own smile. "No, sister. The honor is all mine. I would not be so crass as to ask you to bow nor for my brother to offer me such ritual. I must instead extend my warmest thanks for your greeting and the honor you both pay me."

I extended a hand down to both, "With formality seen to, there is no need for anymore bowing."

Morygen took my hand as did Horus, the man had an eye for seeing the script of a scene. This was not the welcome which I intended to offer to the many of the others, there was too much give and take in it especially for such proud beings as Primarchs. Horus saw that there was no slight intended but I did not expect that sort of self-awareness from the others.

Once that formalities were seen to, we set about introducing our inner circles publicly one by one. Equerries, councilors Astartes and mortal alike, units present and so on.

The feast came after, course after course of meals prepared for the occasion while speeches were given by various figures of well wishes and boasts for the coming years of collaboration between the Second and the Sixteenth.

It was the first week of many as the weeks grinded on, both of public scale and more private gatherings as private where the three of us ate quiet meals in small chambers. I enjoyed those the most as they allowed for more informal speech between the three of us, time for Morygen to adopt her informal mannerisms and for Horus to thoroughly win us over.

It was during one such feast that we received reports from one of the scouting fleets.


	53. Trial and Error I (Megaera PoV)

Megaera Bolas was known to be the Chief Navigator of the 82nd Expeditionary Fleet temporarily joined with the 4th Expeditionary Fleet.

Officially her position was that of a young but respected scion chosen for her merits as a Navigator and the personal selection of Galtine Ailbe, Primarch of the Second Legion.

But she did not consider herself a Navigator.

She considered herself a sword.

And she loved being a sword.

A howling blade cleaving across the arteries of an unimaginably vast beast reminding it of a sensation it had long forgotten.

Pain.

Real, lasting pain.

Scars that would outlive the stars.

As part of the blade Megaera would leave a mark on the aether that none of her kin could imagine. Her bones could be turned to dust, her name scratched out of eternity and still, the Immaterium would remember her. It would remember with pain. It would remember with fear the scars running through every level as she cut her way through.

Megaera would never deny that she was a stern woman. She did not find much worth smiling about and refused to fail live up to the standard of her ancient house.

But that thought made her smile through clenched teeth, it was worth the pain to enjoy that feeling of triumph. She was aware of how frightening a figure she struck.

On her tall throne she abandoned trivial notions of modesty and embraced her form.

The interlocked plates along her fully mechanized arms rose up to reveal a series of uplink plugs which the arms of the throne greedily thrust themselves into, the process was repeated along her neck back and thighs. Chained clamps latched onto her mechanical spine and her arms.

The miniscule cords hidden among her long platinum mane came to life and injected themselves into the mesh of the throne. Her horns hummed as the cracked and stretched to reveal the gleaming white metal beneath and extending another half-foot into the sky conducting into the focusing lenses injected into her third eye.

Her cloven hooves of steel split into thousand of stabilizing components implanting into the throne.

Over her remaining flesh hugged an integrity field better suited for protecting from capital ship bombardment than obscuring view of her form behind a veil of shifting light patterns. Protection and paying some lip service to typical morality.

She reveled in that she seemed more like a glorious god of kaleidoscopic light than a simple mutant.

She sat in the heart of the many tiers of the Avalon's bridge, outside of warp transit the throne would sit between tiers, overlooking the lesser command pools and in turn overlooked by the higher commands.

When the time came to enter the Sea again, a metallic cocoon would rise from her sides and hermetically seal her within as she sat now.

We are preparing for final breach, her beloved friend echoed in her mind. Is the previous estimate still accurate?

Adjust for a two minute, twelve second delay, she growled the thought.

Her implants served many purposes beyond giving her what some fool assassin of a rival sister had taken, when he had stripped her of her ability to walk.

She could see past the white abyss between the calm world of the fleet and the screaming abyss beyond, her eye was at the very edge of the horizon riding at the tip of the blade.

It was painful to attune to her implants like this, her eye was strained by the strength of the projecting shell even with the energies of the Authority flowing through the altered pathways of her brain and the strengthening oculus giving her sight without compare. It was like starring at a star in its full glory, streams of tears pouring out from the strain and intermixed with soothing liquids coursing through the construct. The burning warred against the strain of catching the images of the Immaterium beyond before they burned away, making the necessary calculations through the systems of the throne which she was quickly becoming like a secondary brain and making the minute adjustments to her course.

Her burden and augmentation were both far more severe than the changes made to the others in the fleet, the Authority's protective shell required a degree of coordination between the ships that a conventional fleet would have no need for. It was her burden to reconcile the information from every ship and Navigator and adjust their needs to those of the fleet.

She reveled in it regardless.

Granted, that particular journey and those that the fleet would face in years to come were a newer challenge than the initial travels of the Avalon.

They had sacrificed much of their speed to stretch the shell in order to engulf the entirety of the 4th fleet as well as their own.

It required interacting with the pesky hand-typed messages from the unaugmented navigators a number of additional factors, impossible were the task not made easier by the decreased speed of their transit.

She forced her mouth open just enough to lick her lips in anticipation, she would enjoy what came next more.

Do restrain yourself, Mendicant Onyx echoed within the depths of her ward-etched skull. She could sense the Machine Spirit's own mounting bloodlust in that thought.

They had been summoned by a carrion call, the death screams of an exploration vessel whose crime had been declaration of the truth.

There would be no guilt or hesitation behind what came next.

Their slaughter would be just, but it would be a slaughter.

Thirty seconds to breach, she called out as her mouth began to echo out her message into the rest of the Second Legion vessels and felt them reverberate beyond her cocoon.

"We ask for your leave," She asked the master of the Second as the sunburst over her collarbone glimmered. She felt the force of the Mendicant weaving itself into her mind, digital thought cycled into psychic thread sheathed in the oblivion of Authority. Her question was matched by the dour voice of Dinadar as the words of every Navigator was echoed by dozens of Sect-masters and Oathmasters.

The satisfaction echoed in her gut as the deep, cold words echoed back.

"We are of Onyx," she growled out the words in short, biting movements as the ships shield began to heave its way into reality. "We are the wrath of Calengwag given wings to soar across the stars, may our claws hook into their bones, may our fangs puncture their hearts. You will learn to fear us and you will carry that fear into the Void beneath the world."

The shield shattered to reveal the world beyond while she felt the weapons and shields of every warship in the fleet humming to life. She could feel the thrumming of the Sixteenth preparing their forces like wolves sharpening their fangs while looking for supple flesh to sink into, the esoteric chanting of the Mechanicum warships rousing the interest of long sleeping spirits and convincing them to begrudgingly raise their ancient power.

Before them was a sphere of green and blue, shining light-clusters of cities rising into rings of steel like silver-chased egg. Evaluatory data superimposed itself on their eyes which danced over the thin-strips of bio-technological mesh which sheathed her eyes, evaluating the properties of the defenses and rising warships before they could even properly muster and learn that their treachery would not go unanswered.

Their technology is not unlike ours, Megaera surmised with a disappointed frown. I had hoped for something more exciting. Less treacherous as well.

You dislike engaging a foe of similar fleet design? The Machine Spirit asked. I could rely on external data alone…

Never! She howled internally as her protective cocoon fell away and gave her sight of the bridge. I will not step away from our fleet's maiden battle.

She could hear the Ship-Master bellowing order from his frown but she paid him little mind, the same links ran along his upper-back. She could feel what the man wanted as much as what Onyx desired.

They were all part of the same blade, the blade of the Second. That blade was the Onyx Guild, the Astartes, Navigator, Ship-Master and Spirit alike were merely extensions of a single murderous will.

The fleet splintered into its distinctive groups moved in answer to the commands of a thousand masters.

That was their way.

The Second in dozens of formations as the psychic strain of hosting the Mendicant dominating her and her brothers and sisters across the fleet.

The Avalon's engines roared forwards as a wall of torpedoes beyond count launched from the Avalon and the other ships of the Legion.

The enemy ships attempted to move away from the torpedoes only to scream moments later as the plasma volleys and macro-lasers of the Second cut into those that evaded into the predicted routes.

Those were trace damages but enough for the greatest strength of the Second to hum to life as Megaera enacted her plan and the world became white for an instant before the void before them became the image of a burning ship beneath them.

In a heartbeat the fleet had become dozens of white flashes, disappearing and reappearing within mere miles of the enemy ships before unleashing fearsome blasts from Nova Canons into their engines even while their power cores redirected to their rear thrusters and forward shields.

Megaera exalted in the rumbling of the ship as the Avalon drove through a dreadnought while another Battle Barge burst through the a different segment, perfectly passing each other without concern as the calculated strikes prevented any such risk.

She was barely aware of the battle raging between their allies and the bulk of the enemy as the ships bit through the heaviest of the warships like the bite of a great beast.

The hesitation only lasted for another moment before the they burst out and into existence again.

She paid little heed to the blood trickling from her nose at the strain, it was a predicted consequence of pitched battle.

The men and women shouted orders as the fleet shot more swarms of torpedoes forwards before diving forward again.

She heard reports of their allies cutting a bloody swath through the lesser vessels of the foe even while reports of more enemy arrivals came about at system's edge.

It was pathetic of them, compared to the strain of guiding the fleet through the Authority it was trivial to emerge into the proximity of a planet.

They would arrive to the ruined corpses of their allies and the waiting maw of the imperial fleet.

Foolish.

So revoltingly cowardly.

Pocket vectors calculated, She supplied to Onyx.

Dispersing along predicted entry paths, Onyx idly primed the weapon trajectories of the auxiliary weapon systems and began to fire off volleys of macro-cannon shots towards the predicted points. Their speed slowed to arrive just as the ships were emerging from the Immaterium.

The fleet kicked into its final stage as their last jump saw them over the rings and firing off hundreds and thousands of boarding torpedoes into the rings along predicted routes as the Onyx Guild unleashed its Astartes unto the poor creatures beneath them.

An hour into the fight, the combined fleets had cleaved through the enemy force.

Within three hours the rings' command points were held by the Onyx.

Within six the armies of Fleet were descending on the world below as the Expeditionary Fleet turned to prepare for the relief forces which would eventually arrive.

Megaera was flush with battlelust at that point.

Words were inadequate the relief as she took a breath and allowed the sweat to be wiped from her brows by one of her retainers while another held a container of water so that she could sip it through a straw.

I suspect that we have dealt with the bulk of their forces already, Onyx commented. This was quite the polity I suspect, the defensive fleet would not have been able to be maintained by an fewer than a dozen worlds assuming that this one was irregularly under-developed.

Megaera nodded, That is disappointing.

And that is bravado, the spirit lectured while Megaera rolled her eyes.


	54. Trial and Error II

A drop pod was a horrifying thing.

It was a heaving, screaming thing that sizzled through the sky as it rained down from the heavens into the heart of Target-1B.

I waited alone in my pod, along aside from the Stalwarts communicating through the vox of my helmet and the grey data-streams running across my warhelm.

Data had been collected from the boarding parties of the legions and the initial descent forces had told us much of the foe which we hurled towards with a murderous speed.

The world was called Rhea by its inhabitants, the heart of a 'vast' empire of thirty systems which had been taken by years of bloody warfare.

To us their world was Four Twelve. The Twelfth world which would fall to the Fourth fleet.

And the Rheans had earned a new name, the Cyclopeans.

"Three minutes to impact," Stalwart Gold reported in his childish voice.

I blinked my recognition of the warning while summoning up the display of the hive-cluster below.

There were precisely thirty-two targets around Four Twelve which were slatted for assault, centers of political and military importance to the Cyclopeans which would fall in a series of orchestrated attacks which would silence resistance quickly.

That had been an obvious deficiency in our foe.

They were an unfortunate mix of cruel and self-confident.

They had all but begged for the rain of white and bronze bullets falling towards the high teardrop shape of the central spire.

So I was not altogether that worried about the fall of my pod towards the capital of Four Twelve.

My brother rode in another pod racing through the fiery sky.

Against our rain was a war between to endless barrages of sickly oranges beams racing through the heavens.

The Onyx had claimed the central command points of the Cyclopeans' rings and turned their weapons against the planet below. It had not even required a great deal of creativity to do so, they had merely activated the punishment protocols in place to quell slave rebellions.

I was vaguely guilty for forgetting that many of mankind's shards in that era had turned to feats of cruelty and savagery.

That guilt was a second to the growl of anger threatening to thrum from my throat.

There would be no guilt.

This was a world of cruelty, of foul masters controlling worlds of slaves by virtue of some scraps of knowledge that they themselves merely aped.

The shaking became more violent as the pod thrummed from blasts which stained and charred the hulls of the pod.

I was somewhat certain that the pod would not break.

"One minute to impact," Stalwart added. "Initial breaches have penetrated the central spire. Communicating resistance encounters, forward to Designate-Horus?"

"Yes," I confirmed while bracing my fingers around the hilt of Calyburne.

Soon it would be time to make war.

Soon it would be time to fight.

Soon it would be time to kill.

I idly communicated the data of the foes which were unknowingly rushing towards us.

"Activate Oath-Song," I whispered as a minute undertone filled the legion vox.

Most legions committed themselves to Oaths of Moment, specifically swearing themselves to their mission before a battle as a means of reassurance.

I had enacted a different custom myself.

The song started as the quiet beating of drums before rising horns joined them with an eager vigor as the shaking became more violent.

I had claimed that I had found the song in a ruin during my years on Calengwag and had even properly accredited it to its original maker before making the changes needed to suit their purpose.

The song had been sang on the decks of the Avalon before the ship exited into realspace and as the shaking grew into a burning quake as the force came crashing down as the twelve-thousand voices of the legion came as one.

Out of the skies and from over the waters they come to bring slaughter-to all mankind, the thunder of the legions deep bass rang as my pod broke open and I lunged forward into a ruined hall of gunmetal walls and plexiglass shards.

They were already there their grey skins and great red eyes which lent them their name began to react.

Soldiers of fortune, administer torture they rip out your heart-and leave you to die. Calyburne split through three of the men in a single sizzling strike, splitting past the inhumanity of grey-steel graft and the bulky armour shard in the way did not even slow the white-steel's passing. The red flesh beneath rained out in arterial gore but I paid it little mind as I absorbed the moment with a spinning step and bit diagonally across another three.

The Red sphere which was the head of the first split as it was bitten through, then the arms and torso of the second and the wrists and waist of the third.

It had been less than a heartbeat.

And it did nothing to deter the remaining thirty from charging.

Plunder and pillage, and rape of the villages, towns, and the cities-burnt to the ground.

They charged because they had no more a capacity of fear than I did, portions of brain matter excised from them in a much cruder way than my soul was molded.

I continued my advance.

Step and slash through three, parry with enough force to split arms and send a short-barreled rifle through the head of another, crimson liquid draining and leaving the sphere colorless save for the augmented brain within.

Banish the nation, till their occupation means nothing is left of the old world order...

Seem to overcommit with one strip and when they attempted to level their weapons my free hand would reach out cleave through the offending arms to the once-human's shock.

The remaining masses were dead around me before the next line of song came.

"Ninety-percent successful breach," The Stalwart continued with the first embers of anger matched by the snarl on my mouth. "Additional operations matching presented precedent, confirming all Sect-Masters and superiors accounted for, gathering data for Sixteenth."

I spared the gore around me no further as I charged forward and into the snaking halls, following distant heart beats and the mapping data trickling into my feed as Stalwart reconciled the data of his sister's scans and the reports of every other warhelm.

Cyclopeans.

The name was an insult.

The people of Rhea saw eyes as a sign of enlightenment.

Two eyes were those of the slave-masses, the most basic increment of humanity who served menial lives in the factories of their masters under the eyes of overseers who had a third eye overlaid onto their forehead.

The triclops overseers were also commands of their slave soldiers.

I made that observation as I crushed the head of one with a vicious kick while cleaving through his surprised squad with Calyburne in monstrous facsimile of a summersault.

Out of the skies, and from over the waters they come to bring slaughter-to all mankind.

Horus had made the mistake of assuming that the oath song was a boast when it was in truth a curse.

It was a condemnation to the splinters of humanity that had embraced barbarism of one brand or another.

Soldiers of fortune, administer torture they rip out your heart-and leave you to die.

Eyes beyond three were the upper castes, five for scientists to name an example.

The Nine-Eyed Tyrant was whom we sought.

One eye?

Plunder and pillage, and rape of the villages, towns, and the cities-burnt to the ground.

They were the criminals, the slaves and the defeated that the Cyclopeans had made into something less than human.

At the time I had thought them to be something like Servitors.

Banish the nation, till their occupation means nothing is left of the-old world order...

But even then, I was not sure that was true.

Servitors did not reek of fear and pain.

I eventually emerged into a courtyard of statuary and piles of corpses piled around a cyclopean bred into the size of a giant, bundles of artificial muscle bloating it to great proportions. The chamber seemed to bare the marks of a mustering point and so easily accommodated the two thousand Astartes gathered within.

Resting against the shattered brain-casing of the giant black-iron skull was Trystane while idly meditating while Alten'lo stood to his side and spoke to the gathered Masters of the Second and Captains of the Sixteenth.

I leapt from the third story window and came down easily enough much to the surprise of the men.

Aquilla will rise and conquer.

"Status?" I asked while I approached them after making my declaration of Grandmastery.

Warlords downtrodden.

"Not too bad," Trystane chuckled before shaking his head. "The casualties have been minimal but as to the objective…"

"Four possible locations," Alten'lo concluded while resting the steel of his Paragon Blade over his shoulder and nodding his dismissal to the gathered Masters. "Lord Lupercal has Morien with him and is moving towards the central communications array."

with the battle won.

"We will do likewise then," I nodded while making the symbol of unification to the Luna Wolf captains. "Will you concede to join me in this then?"

It was a formality, Horus and I had agreed that there was no sense in being fickle with regards to who used which elements, we took what landed near us and worked with it. But I knew he would be making the same request to my sons and returned the favor.

They matched the gesture and one spoke, "It would be an honour, Lord Ailbe."

I tilted my head at the richness in his tone but decided that I would look into later as the sound of bolt-fire renewed in the chamber. I could hear the hiccupping sound of the Cyclopean weapons as more formations neared and attempted to trade fire.

"Hold the courtyard," I turned to Trystane who saluted me with a lazy nod before leaping back to his armoured feat and unsheathing his combat knife to match his white-hilted Moraltach.

"I'll be exceptionally dead before you see more come from this direction," he chuckled over the vox as he charged again.

I resisted a snort before turning to Alten'lo, "We take three Oaths and move to the objective, three hundred Luna Wolves as well."

Can this be a new beginning?

"We Bring the Dawn!" My knights shouted while "Lupercal!" rang in lesser but no less passionate numbers.

Bring an end to all the killing?

We charged farther into the hive like a flood of bronze and white. We matched each other in a way, where the Luna Wolves reached forwards to bring down the triclopses with precise efficiency the Dawn Knights formed a charging line of boltgun and blade, scything down rank after rank of cyclops as one brother would parry to open room for another to finish with bolt or shell.

Human indecision.

Casualties did rise when the triclops warriors began sending in their mightiest units.

Corridors and intersections became carnal houses as great cyclops-ogres were brought down by wolf-packs like their namesakes brought down ancient bears. A brother would be crushed in a massive hand while fearlessly shooting into the reinforced eye only for another brother to bring his great blade onto an armoured leg or another to through a grenade into the other.

Rife with cruel suspicion.

Where the wolves hunted like packs the Knight Parties were a single mechanism, one might bait while remainder would arc past to cut both legs from under it. They were methodical in cutting down extremities, then bodies and then necks like cleavers selecting meat. Eyes born of the acceptance of fighting something greater than themselves looking for the crushing blows and the slight delay in their reaction time.

While the Age of Strife continues.

They brought forth three-eyed warriors with overwhelming strength and speed which could fight Astartes as equals.

Their sizzling blades of electrified energy wreaked a butcher's toll on us but ultimately fell short as we continued to march forward.

Aquila will rise and conquer.

But their masters had stripped them of creativity, programmed algorithms unable to think enough to question or rebel. They lacked the creative spark that saw new masteries of savagery and skill unfurl behind the war-masks of white and bronze as weaknesses were exploited to brutal effect.

The monsters had no brothers to avenge them as they fell under the furious might of the Angels of Death.

Warlords downtrodden.

We roared as we pierced layer after layer of the hive, with each death my son's anger rose like a violent tempo in time the eager beat of the drums and horns echoing in their vox.

Until we reached our goal.

With the battle won.

We breached through tall gates of gene-cultivated bone with a chorus of bolters and walked into the palace of the Nine-Eyed Tyrant.

Can this be a new beginning?

The halls of bones, steel and eyes starred at us as we heard the High Gothic screams, cries of the fates that awaited us and the heresies we committed by stepping on sacred grounds.

Bring an end to all the killing?

We fought our way through layer after layer of monstrosity as we delved deeper, a hemisphere of Astartes bolts and blades cutting through gargolyes of steel and flesh. Alten'lo felled a behemoth with three heads while I watched with pride and rage as my sons did not shirk from their duty, dying holding their place or saving the life of a brother.

The grief strengthened us as I split a witch of lightning and iron from sculp to heel before cutting through her brothers.

Wolves flung themselves against three-eyed men grafted onto great spiders of steel.

We marched through the parade of human depravity.

Until the centuries of war have ended.

It only came to an end when Calyburne erupted through a corpse-throne of screaming technology and countless eyes and around the planet millions the drones fell like lifeless puppets.

Can the battle-scars be mended?

It would be hours longer until all of the battles were reported over.

When the centuries of war have ended, can the battle-scars be mended?

I wondered at the final words as I embraced Morygen the following morning, long after the war song had been deactivated.

Compliance.

That was the hard part.


	55. Trial and Error III

They had cheered.

We had killed hundreds of thousands and they had cheered.

There was something distasteful about that, I would have rathered their hatred and disdain. Eventually they should have been pleased once generations had passed. Instead they had risen up and turned on the augmented classes.

It had actually taken the interference of the Dawn Knights to preserve the children of the augmented classes.

With mixed results.

Resentment was a dire thing when unleashed.

I was pleased to return to the Avalon's Apothecarium Primaris and settle down for the simple work of dissection.

The Avalon technically boasted approximately twenty medical facilities of various scales from small crew-deck clinics to what were essentially self-contained hospitals and each was stocked to capacity as befit my temperament.

Beyond those were three Apothecariums to see to the battle-brothers of the legion, each I was proud to say went unrivaled anywhere beyond the gene-forges of Terra and perhaps Luna.

The Apothecarium Primaris was quite another thing. It was a place of dozens of suspension tanks, surgical slabs of every scale, vaults of gene-seed, organs and samples from every variant of gene-stock that I could requisition from Terra to say nothing of the machines and cogitators that lined the walls.

Every Primarch had their sanctums, their workshops where they sought to perfect their own purpose.

The Apothecarium Primaris was mine.

My orderlies and assistants were Servo-Skulls slaved to aspects of Merlin and the Astartes which I had marked for proper instruction in the healing arts.

I worked over one of the cyclopean variants while dozens of automated surgical cutters cut through pieces of grafted hide with care so minute as to give me a precise cross-section when removed.

It was relaxing to look at how the baseline humanity had been altered by the four-eyed scientists. The irony of the name still amused me given my own need for glasses in a past life and the data-processing lenses over my own eyes as I worked.

"This is barbaric," Corvises frowned as he ran an armor-square under a humming scanner. "Readings suggest subject would have been kept conscious throughout the procedure."

I liked Corvises, the Terran had the right mix of loyalty and intellect in his brown-grey eyes. He was a good student but he had the unfortunate habit of letting his distaste distract him.

"It is to be expected," I explained while peeling back the spinal-mount of the armour, a spidery set of hooks carefully pried from the fragile bone beneath. "It would make sensory uplink less efficient and we have established that survival of the subject was not a priority."

The Cyclopean-stock of humanity was surprisingly pure beneath the augmentations forced on their slave and higher castes, the cheering throngs calling my brother's name on the surface in their clicking tongue were perfectly ordinary in form.

I shook my head at the thought.

It was bitterly ironic that they abused their relative purity with such monstrous augmentations.

Say what you will of the Astartes but they are still human in their essentials, they still love and hate and despite supposed claims, could very much still feel fear even if it was numbed to a near-total degree.

The Cyclopeans were not allowed that much.

That was the fifth of their kind which I had disassembled and I had begun to draw my conclusions regarding the modifications.

A subject was flawed alive after being fed a unique strand of narcotic which instigated enough regeneration to keep them alive through mechanized flaying while numbing none of the pain before the first layer of augmentations.

A spinal mount and several joint-anchors were drilled into the conscious subject before they were used to as the initial basis for attachment of bundles of artificial muscle linking the anchors. Thousands of semi-solid pins were then injected to link into the nervous system before a grey sheath was applied.

From the sheer number of irregularities and imperfections I had long since formed a theory of a industrialized process, some of the anchors were misaligned and a number of the nerve uplinks merely drilled into flesh without a matched nerve.

All of that was fairly minor compared to what was done to head.

The upper skull was completely excised and replaced with a machine-apparatus linked to the brain which was sustained by regenerative crimson soup. As near as I could tell the soup could sustain a subject for no more than a decade.

They were screaming puppets, the machinery of their brains directed them and kept them alive in permanent pain while directing them according to programmed procedures.

That would have been cruel and distasteful.

But no worse than what the Mechanicum's Servitors.

But that was not the worst of it.

"Even a basic lobotomy would be better than this," Cobair sighed as he worked over the brain of a subject on another table. The young Astartes of Calengwag's lips curled in distaste.

"Memories might have relevant data," I explained. "They are primarily an enforcement tool and sufficient vocal capacity remains to let them scream as a terror weapon. Distasteful but logical from a perverse perspective."

Which was not say that I did not intend to execute anyone remotely responsible for that perversity.

The people of Four Twelve had as near as I could tell nothing akin to mind-wiping technology as near as I could tell and saw little use in it.

It certainly explained why I could scent fear from those I fought.

They were conscious, in constant pain and thoroughly aware of both who they were and what had been done to them.

It was not an easy thing to make a Mechanicum Magos revolted but the sheer inefficiency of it had managed to anger the Arch-Magistrix when I had begun sending her my findings. I doubted that her offense came from a reason similar to my own but it still spoke volumes of the perversity of it.

I suppose that that was the reasoning for the minimal indoctrination of the masses.

Fear of that fate lost its luster if they were taught to view it positively, that nearly all the weapons on the world were controlled by the brain-rigs made fear of revolution minimal and the rings could be turned on their people if needed.

I swallowed some bile at the monstrosity of it before focusing back on my work and my apprentices.

I could come up with a method of vengeance later.

…

"Four hundred and eighty nine," Alten'lo reported dutifully alongside Trystane later that day as I stripped off my medical garb in favor of a simple tunic, pants and belt in one of the chambers of my apartments. "Not as severe as the Sixteenth's losses by a thin margin but still suboptimal."

"Forward me the names," I sighed. "Any particular formation suffer the bulk?"

"Not as such," Trystane shook his head with a bitter smile as he sat on a chest while rolling with a dagger between his fingers. "A few parties were lost but no Raid has reported losses below half-strength. We were lucky there."

"Over a thousand Astartes," Alten'lo reminded idly while scrolling over his holo-slate. "That is a bloody toll on out brothers."

"I know, Alten," Trystane gave a bitter bark. "And we were not even fighting anything with a soul. We lost them glorified automata!"

"We do what we must," I reminded him. "But at least we can take pride in what their deaths have helped achieve."

"Lord Lupercal suggests that we divide the cost of subjugating the remaining Cyclopean systems," Alten'lo continued while idly wagging his bearded jaw. "He is opting to oversee the compliance of the capital personally and requests that we commit at least two Guilds to the system."

"Well that is lucky," Trystane tossed the knife up and caught in thought. "The bulk of the flagships are still undergoing Authority-repairs if memory served."

"Correct," Alten'lo confirmed. "The Authority-Capable Cruisers and Frigates are still operational, sufficient to carry the Pearl, Sapphire, Topaz and Emerald."

Anything lighter than a Battle Barge had a much shorter maintenance period for their Authority systems even if they lacked the towing capability of the capital ships, a deliberate choice born out of the necessity of any legion to be able to make war on a grand scale.

I nodded while sheathing Calyburne, "Then we will do that, have them rotate the Sects and forward their reports to me. I would have this take no longer than maintenance will require."

Three months.

That was the typical span required for a fleet to achieve basic compliance before moving on and leaving a suitable garrison of Imperial Army Auxilia and perhaps a half-company of marines for particularly troublesome worlds.

Communications suggested that the bulk of their worlds were already beginning to suffer massed rebellions which would be crushed by the lesser military forces present on each according to the records on Four Twelve.

I was not concerned about anymore fleet engagements, their communication systems were admirable at short-range and they had called for a great deal of aid from the eight-eyed governors. So the bulk of their fleets were current tumbling wrecks being marked for salvage by the Mechanicum forces.

By all accounts we had broken them over our knees with minimal trouble.

My equerries nodded and departed without another word to oversee the more detailed planning between themselves and the rest of the Round.

I allowed a great deal of autonomy in my legion for two very simple reasons.

The first was to encourage them to be able to operate on their own but the second was a touch grim.

Primarchs were not immortal and I had no interest in my legion fracturing into pieces should I die.

I shook my head as I walked towards one of my small dining halls where my brother and my wife awaited.

I found them rehashing an old argument.

"Your fixation continues to disturb, my dear sister," Horus chuckled as he leaned over one side of a long table built to Primarch proportions out of steel and stone.

"You don't have one!" Morygen laughed as she popped another berry into her mouth.

"I fail to see how my preferences relate to this matter," Morygen raised a brow as Horus explained with a self-satisfied smile.

"A foot!" She waved in exclamation. "Thirty centimeters! Think of the low ceilings!"

"And we return to that old argument," He rolled his eyes before noticing me and waving with lazy ease. "Speaking of which, hello brother."

"Galtine!" My wife chuckled as she used her enhanced physique to fling herself towards me we a vicious laugh and crashing into me with enough force for me to adjust my footing slightly. "Are you done depressing yourself for the day?"

"Something like that," I smiled down to her before looking to Horus. "I did not expect you."

"No one ever expects the White Wolf," Horus said with bravado before laughing again. "That is the joke is it not?"

"Close enough," I smiled back before sighing.

"I approve of your idea, I will deploy the guilds and remain here," I explained.

"I am glad to hear it," Horus nodded. "It is good to let one's men gain their own blood, we cannot be unilaterally taking all the glory, now can we?"

"I was not the one that took the communication array, now am I?" I pointed out before Morygen swatted me on the side.

"Enough arguing over glory," she laughed.

"So says the woman who insisted on taking the life of every commander she could find," Horus laughed at the nonplussed woman.

"That is unfair," She snorted. "I have to do something to pass the time, I cannot have my children thinking that I am dead weight."

I laid a finger of her head before nodding.

"Well I can confirm that you are alive at least," I joked before getting a jab to my side for my trouble.

Horus gave us an amused look, "I must confess that I did not expect the idea of a mate to involve so much conflict."

"Well of course!" Morygen nodded authoritatively. "Incidentally, I am starving."


	56. Trial and Error IV

The months proceeded smoothly as I tried my hand at helping with the shaping of the administration of Four Twelve and its subjects (I was somewhat bemused by the records stating we claimed eighty worlds for the Imperium due to uninhabited or sparsely inhabited planets in the same system joining the record) into properly compliant worlds.

I was no administrator, I was no Guilliman and Calengwag was essentially run by Beneficent Silver. I could formulate strategy, tactics and was a fair hand at logistics in my own humble opinion but I was not suited to go about building a society from the ground up.

Horus was helpful in this regard, namely in that he was the proverbial ice-breaker between the various actors both local and in the fleet assemble a cohesive ruling council.

I merely fed my own handful of ideas into the process and went around doing the best thing which I could think of to earn good will.

As it turned out the Two-Eyes were not used to having those who nominally ruled over them go make a point out of shows of kindness.

One particular case found my disembarking outside one of the field hospitals in one of the more unstable regions.

I disembarked from my personal Stormbird at the head of my students, onto a wind-blown pad with the clank of steel-shod boots.

I stopped before the waiting Imperial Army commander who had was in command of the region and his staff alongside a wrinkled Medicae.

They were kneeling with their heads turned down in what was probably a starring contest.

I idly scanned their insignia's and nodded to myself.

"General," I greeted while reaching down to one knee before the man. "It will be hard to conduct a conversation if you are on the ground."

The man froze where he had been nervous before.

"Gen-general Herstecles, My-My Primarch-" I interrupted while pulling his face up to look meet his hazel eyes and shaking my head.

"Dear Herstecles, your Janizars are sworn to my brother," I reminded him kindly and with my warmest smile. "There is no need for you to present yourself, although rest assured that the gesture is appreciated. I merely come to see to the wounded."

I gave him a grin and a gentle pat on the back before turning to regard the Medicae.

"You are the head physician here?" I asked.

The man nodded his chins and refused to look up.

It was a tedious habit that undeafened mortals were tended to need some working to stop doing.

"I prefer to look people in the eyes if you could," I said not unkindly.

"Yes, lord," The old man looked up with exhausted eyes.

"Would you be so kind as to show me to the wounded?" I asked politely. "This is your place and I do not wish to act without your consent."

I technically did not have to but there was such a thing as etiquette.

He looked nervously to the general who nodded in what I am sure he thought was a minute gesture.

"This way, lord," The man nodded nervously before walking as carefully as he could down the ramp, making an effort to stand straight despite what I was suspecting was a lack of speed.

We walked into the series of prefabricated structures and the sea of tents beyond.

The world was a touch worse than underdeveloped, fields of hydroponics and shabby hab-blocks had been damaged by a mix of dissident bombings and a battalion of berserk Cyclopeans which had gone feral rather than be shut down.

The refugees were still pouring into the camps from the blasted hab-blocks, many underfed, filthy and mutilated due to an eye being carved out of their brows at birth.

They were herded like cattle through the camp by soldiers keeping them away from us as we descended from the ramp and began walking over the steel pathways suspended over the mud below.

"I can already smell the disease," Corvises still had traces of the Terran accent to our tongue but deferred to it for the sake of privacy.

"Which is why we are here," I explained. "This area was one of the worst hit by the fighting, the people here are more desperate than they are elsewhere. The slug crawls through the misery of dredges."

The heads of twenty astartes nodded at my words.

I had to admit that there was more than kindness behind my actions.

I was grooming my apothecaries to embody my will, every legion had their unique formations, their ranks and units.

I was a healer by make and preference, I also cared for my sons.

So I took those who were most willing to sacrifice for their brothers with the right mix of potential and empathy.

"Commence general dispersement," I ordered as grey-gold mist began pouring out of my Warplate and the elongated nartheciums on my student's arms while the tapped away at the interfaces on their gauntlets.

"Lord?" The Chief Medicae asked nervously.

"Merely take me to the largest tent if you would," I said with another kindly smile. "I seek to heal and that is what I am doing."

The mist spread far beyond us like a great shroud until they began to reach the grasping crowd as numbers ran over my retinal impant as the more common ailments were identified, isolated and rectified.

The crowd fell into a stunned silence as rashes, burns and scars vanished from their skins as my sons split off into pairs into the crowds.

I was glad for the morphine-like substance that the nanites were spreading with them otherwise I would be concerned about the safety of the crowds from a panicked stampede which would have made my presence for the worse.

Tens and then hundreds of refugees fell to their knees sobbing as their ailments were cleansed from their bodies as my sons advanced through their ranks, looking for unfamiliar diseases or more large-scale wounds which the nanites could not repair without direct manipulation.

"Focus, my good medicae," I gently prodded the stunned man as he starred gaping at the advancing waves of healers.

"What-what is this?" He asked blankly before remembering himself and looking up with shot at the informality of his tone.

"Help," I said by way of explanation before nodding to him. "The tent, please."

He nodded numbly before leading me away, my escorts remembered themselves and caught up a few steps later. I was distantly amused by way some of the men and women tried to discretely pad their uniforms to make certain that their ailments were gone.

Stalwart Sapphire spoke into the comm-bead implanted into my ears with her muted tones. "Are you deliberately playing the role of the messiah-figure?"

The quietest aspect of Merlin was also the most mischievous by a wide margin when she bothered to speak.

"Would you prefer the credit?" I asked in too quiet a tone to be noticed by even an Astartes. "You are the one healing them at the moment?"

"My need for human praise could not be less," The R&D AI snorted as she directed the drones.

"Is that so sister?" Gold teased from within his sword-body. "Would you rather I do it?"

"Silence has its value brother," Sapphire answered sharply. "Although millennia sharing a mind with you should have taught me the futility of trying to reason with you. Would you answer my query, Galtine."

Merlin was erratic but at least I was not stuck with a set of bickering siblings, I sighed. "Not me. If we perform our function well then I will never need to walk the surface of this world again, they need to see the Imperium as their savior. We should be nothing more than transient extensions of that will."

I hoped.

I was lead into a tent which I had to duck to enter and was forced to remain stooped to walk in.

My nanites surged inward as they were recalled until they hung around me like an ephemeral cloak.

"The worst off are in here," The Medicae sighed. "We have stabilized a few but there is only so much that can be done, the fleet only has so many supplies and the resident healers have proven… recalcitrant to say the least, Lord."

"There is no need to fear," I gave him an assuring smile as scanned the columns of outstretched patients before selecting my first patient and beginning to move.

I unlatched my warhelm from my side and latched it over my head, the seals lasting only for a second before the grey interface lit up and Sapphire began compiling the data before me while reconciling it with my own mind.

My massive frame came to a stop over a mother weeping over the child laid out on the cot.

I dispassionately evaluated the issue, a las-wound on her side having punctured a lung which some Medicae had managed to temporarily heal. The medical mesh which was holding lung sealed as it was would poison her eventually due to the traces of dust which had already entered her before the Medicae had temporarily saved her life.

Combined with other wounds? She would last perhaps a few years in excruciating pain.

I kneeled next to the mother who fell over and pushed herself away from me while clinging to her side, fear alive in her remaining eye.

"Do not worry," I assured her as the soldiers around me looked wearily at us. I wondered if they feared I meant the child harm? That was a good thing in its own way, it meant that they had some kindness in them. "I will help her."

I was uncertain of how strong my accent in their dialogue was but she did not object as I reached a hand over the little girl's chest while arranging the treatment. Sapphire acknowledged the command while the sphere of nanites formed under my hand and began to borrow into the girl while she let out a yelp of pain.

The mother reached up to help keep the girl down with urgent reassurances on her lips.

I idly noted that it was more probably that they were sisters than mother and daughter…

The realization refocused my attention onto the girl as I swallowed some bile which had risen up to my mouth.

This is different, I reminded myself. This is different. This is different.

I knew more, the injury was simpler, the technology was better.

I filtered out the poisons from her blood first, the materials filtered out through her skin while her breathing intensified.

The I began eroding her the foam and set about regenerating the flesh, sealing the tears in the lung and undoing the damage that was already present in her respiratory system which had been wrought by the poison.

I opted to heal every imperfection that I could find in her within body before drawing back the nanites as they sealed the skin again.

I stood up once the damage was reversed and moved on to the next patient without another thought to the sisters which I had actually managed to save.

I did not and could not heal them all, I merely sought out the most unsalvageable and healed them beyond any standard of health they could ever hope for.

That was one camp among dozens in the region, among many regions in similar states.

The point was not to heal them all, it was to make them see what the Imperium was capable of and to give them hope for a better life in the Imperium. They would remember the kindness of the Astartes as well as the terror they wreaked on their oppressors.

There something to be said about leveraging human reactions on the populace in the name of peace.

…I did later ensure that the sisters would find themselves 'lucky' enough to be relocated to one of the better zones and have a small fortune wired to them.

Morygen laughed when I told her of the incident and chuckled.

"You're a bleeding heart," She joked.

"Bleeding hearts," I smiled at her use of the colloquial term I had taught her.

That earned me a jab.


	57. Trial and Error V (Galtine & Morygen)

"This is an acceptable version of the work," The Arch-Magistrix's unmoving face nodded from atop her overly-long neck as a set of thin mechandrites detached themselves from the data-slate she held gingerly in her lower set of arms before depositing it back under her robes.

"I am glad that you like it," I smiled while leaning against one of the pillars of her workshop. Much like everything else there it would have been scalding to a human touch.

For as long as I had known the Magistrix, I had known her to be sparse with praise. It was a great part of why I liked her, she did not have sycophantic bone in her body.

Granted, she had few bones in her body if I was any judge from her movement, scent and breathing.

Her head tilted a touch too far to the side along with a considerable part of her thin frame, "Your sentiment is unnecessary, Primarch. The work is acceptable and prepared for wider-scale dissemination."

Her vocalizations did not come from a human throat, a human's ears might notice the overtones of machinery in her voice but my own hard what was the truth behind it. Her words were a masterfully composed simulacrum of human speech made with grinding gears, beating hammers and industrial machinery save for the few artistic flourishes which were meant to be heard.

Morygen snorted from her perch atop one of the work tables in the forge-workshop, "That's a good thing right?

Kagu'Tsuchi regarded the Seeker before making a snort of her own, a sound more like the hiss of an old steam-engine than that of a human made less human by the trail of smoke that emanated from her finely carved nostrils, "I see no reason for your continued insistence on false pretenses of inadequate knowledge, Legion Mother."

There was just the slightest shift in the Seeker's eyes for a moment.

"It's no fun if you point it out, you know," Morygen pouted childishly for a moment before letting it slip away to a smaller smile. "Are you certain about this? It is not exactly without risk for you."

"Irrelevant," Her grinding tone gave a bite to the response. "The knowledge holds true, by that virtue alone it is worthy of entry into the sacred codes."

"And our chances of success?" I asked.

The chances were mixed of course but I was fishing for the 'gut' reaction of the vestiges of humanity buried under her robes.

"Unknown," She hissed like a drill through steel. "Some of my brothers associated chances of percentiles on the reactions of flesh. You know that I attributed this imperfection to critical decomposition in cognitive processes."

Morygen gave her an amused look while I chuckled.

"Your humor implies that you believe that I am attempting brevity," She clicked the metal-tipped claws of her main arms' thumbs against her fingers. "I do not and I am being precise, proper maintenance of cranial implants among a minority of the elder Magos is woefully neglected. This does not contribute to this line of inquiry however, my latest estimates as to the success of the work are favorable."

I let the humor fade as I nodded at the Arch-Magistrix.

"Then the Machinae Veritatem is ready," I smiled grimly.

It had been an idea that had struck me before I had left Calengwag. The Machine Cult was too powerful an element to leave to its own devices and its nominal segregation from the Imperium had served no small role in encouraging the Heresy. The fact of the matter was that my father had made little to no effort in giving the Mechanicum reason to stay loyal to the Imperium beyond blind belief in case of a schism.

Life was a matter of give and take, equivalent exchange if one wanted to go for the cliché. I needed to find something which would give the Machine Cult reason to stay a bit more loyal than approximately half of the time.

I had begun idly making notes decades ago, rough notes based on what I had known about the cult of mechanical lunatics and trying to draw suppositions regarding how they might be better reconciled with the Imperial ideology. Adding to it once I was in a position to begin leveraging my influence to gain access to the theologies of Mars. Granted some of the things I had done to gain access to the oldest records had been a touch… extreme.

Incidentally, that episode had had a great deal to do with how my acquaintance with the Arch-Magistrix had begun… in retrospect I had solidified many of my closest alliances in the depths of one perilous ruin or another.

The trouble had been worth it in the end, there was a great deal that I did not agree with regarding the precepts of the Mechanicum but there was much more to the religion than the simplified caricatures of human beings that they had been made into in my past life. Certainly enough to work with when I had turned to my father for advice on the exact details of his doctrine.

The Machinae Veritatem was the result of that effort, ten volumes of essays and discourses as to the nature Omnissiah and the doctrines of the Imperial Truth. It was admittedly a dense, ponderous tome which I would not inflict on my… well I almost certainly would but the sentiment remained that the work was not exactly riveting unless one had a palate for extreme theological minutia and a patience for the Machine Tongue.

"So, when will we begin sending them out?" Morygen asked while wiping the sweat from her brow.

The distribution pattern was simple.

The first round of tomes would be published by a small firm in Sao Paol by the Fear Gorta Emissary which had settled in the region anonymously along with copies sent to the highest echelons of the Imperial Household and the Cult Mechanicum with a clear understanding of who was doing the writing.

"Correct. I confess that this is the first time in centuries that I have been so eager for the results of a test," Kagu'Tsuchi clapped her hands together while her lips curled up as thousands of fake-muscles readjusted.

"Really?" Morygen asked.

"No," the Arch-Magistrix shrugged her upper sets of limbs. "It will be fascinating but I am more interested in perfecting the Vengeance-Pattern, the Great Spirit of Sapphire seems quite certain that we are near the production stage."

Her smile pulled back far enough to show row after row of humming razors as he cheeks split open into a vicious grin of anticipation.

My wife laughed while I idly wondered why the bulk of my Round suffered from some form of madness.

I dismissed the thought and let my own laugh join Morygen's.

Laughter was good, it made the days worth the nights.

…

Morygen had no need whatsoever for exercise.

Her body was could not atrophy without severe starvation.

Her muscles would remain as they were even if she died.

But she was not used to staying still, it didn't help her think.

She ducked under a stream of sizzling energy as it hurled past her.

Morygen did not like being bored.

It was not in her.

She pushed her boot against the crate and launched herself over the barricade before coming down on the surprised woman with her rags and weapon in hand.

The shock in her eyes both those she had been born with and the lenses over them lasted for only a moment before Gualguanus split her in half.

Those around her did not have the time to react before a rounded strike split the survivors into pieces.

It's nice that our bladecraft compares well, she chuckled as she pivoted the strike of another of the augmented humans and split his head open and drove into the man behind him.

I already left a lot behind, She mused.

She was sure that there were better weapons than her family sword but it had made her giddy that she did not have to leave it behind.

The Moraltach cut through the insurgents like nothing, they might have been stripped naked for all that their metal skin mattered.

Well. She snorted, they are naked I guess.

The Cyclopeans were slow in her opinion, like a child's ragdoll really.

Morygen stopped after carving her way through another corridor and blinked as she looked at one of the drone-corpses slumping against the wall painted with its death.

"Probably not the best doll for a child," She admitted while crouching in front of the mutilated thing. She scratched her cheek and smiled sheepishly at the thought. That was not the sort of thought that the 'Legion Mother' should have much less say.

She shook her head while standing up and continuing her charge through the compound.

There were entirely too many of the Cyclopeans really.

Five at the end of the hall.

Thirty in the following chamber

Ten.

Three.

Eight.

Fifteen.

She knew that she was complaining too much, she was grateful for the distraction really.

'Legion Mother'.

She hacked through a three-eyed as the name rang through her mind, her lips pulled back over her lips into a snarl as she bisected the arms and torso of the fool in a single strike.

Her sons were running two levels below, she was lucky that her speed was greater than theirs.

She did not mean to be ungrateful.

She was glad to have her sons.

She was glad to have gotten everything she could have asked for.

She had her dreams, her goals, her love and now she had sons in their own way.

But.

"Legion Mother," She growled as she docked under a giant's arm and drove her sword under it's outstretched arm and through the beast's heart. She spit her rage on it as it fell and kept running.

But.

"I might as well be a glorified pet," she muttered the words as she cut through a set of locks and kicked the door open.

'Legion Mother.'

What sort of title was that?

At least she had been something more before, she had been an Oathmaster, a Sectmaster and then a Guildmaster.

Now?

She was nothing but an honorary title in a body that was barely her own.

She did not have to be Galtine's equal.

She did not have to be a demigod.

She just needed to be something.

A roar echoed from her mouth as she leapt onto the back of another giant and pierced it's throat with her sword. The flight of it's companions from the toppling mass providing all the opportunity she needed to run them through in the span of heartbeats.

She turned around and realized that one of the fallen bore five eyes.

The reported leader from the look of her.

"That's it then," She sighed and sat down.

Her boys would come looking for her soon.

She settled down to begin cleaning her sword while her escort thudded their way towards her, they would be there in a few minutes if her hearing was any judge.

She starred at the woman in the blade and frowned before adjusting her hair.

"Enough of that," she told herself quietly. "Can't go complaining about having life handed to you, no one likes the ungrateful."

But it did bother her.

She could not help her husband, she could not help her sons and she could not help herself.

"Enough of that," she repeated as she stood up and adjusted her hair and forced her smile look more cheerful.

She was over forty years old, eighty Terran. She was too damned old to prove others right about her weakness.

Going on constant raids was probably not the healthiest way to deal with the problem.

"There you are, my sons," She smiled at the squad as they arrived through the doors. "You'll need to do better to keep up with me."

She laughed while they chuckled.

She couldn't complain about them at least.

It was good to be a mother at least.

It just wasn't enough.


	58. Trial and Error VI (Galtine & Gareth)

"To a successful Compliance!" Horus laughed as he toasted in imitation of the toast he had made in at the planetary governor's appointment feast. There was more wry amusement now that he repeated it in private.

We sat in a small feasting hall with only Morygen, the Mournival and my Equerries in attendance.

"And to going back to fighting opponents with an even number of eyes!" I chuckled as I met his toast.

"I will drink to that!" Trystane met the toast to Berabaddon's amusement.

"Drinking does seem a great strength for your legion," The Sanguine flashed an edged smile.

"Indeed!" Trystane laughed. "We have much to teach you then!"

The Sanguine of the Wolves laughed and held up the silver goblet to observe the amber-hued mead in it, "As long as you keep bringing this drink then I for one welcome your instruction!"

That got another round of laughter and cheers.

The campaign was certainly doing the job of building ties between the legions rather well among the higher echelons, the lower ranks mostly interacted through the sparring cages and occasional feasts but at least that was something.

An interesting result was a number of my sons picking up the harsh tongue of Cthonia even if the gesture had not quite been reciprocated. My son's were habitual learners, gifted in tongues and the social sciences beyond their martial aspect.

It was a strange balance between horrifying and endearing to see the effect of Astartes mirroring their second-sire in person. The shared lectures in the vault-libraries of our ships had become nearly as popular as the feasting halls.

I wondered about the sons of my brother, where Horus had picked up the tongue with remarkable ease and had an avid hunger for learning, his sons generally did not. They were not stupid and many of their upper echelons were avid readers but it was not something hard wired into them, not a drive that carved itself into them as alongside my gene-seed.

"I never foresaw our legion becoming known for drink," Alten'lo shook his head mournfully. Although the slight smile hidden by his beard hinted at the humor he found in it.

"And looting," Abaddon added while sipping from his mead. "Don't forget the looting."

"It is not looting," Alten said with stern dignity. "We were merely ensuring that the Mechanicum receive their due while executing the precepts of the Truth."

"An interesting interpretation," Horus smiled at my equerries before looking back to me. "Many could not help but notice that your sons were rather careful in not damaging what they took."

"My legion is rather apt at reclaiming goods without breaking things," I shrugged with a conspiratorial tone. "And we do need everything we can to achieve a proper size."

"Very fair," Horus conceded with a magnanimous dip of his head. "That should be aided once we rendezvous with the relief fleet at the system's edge."

That was true.

The bulk of my Legion's fleet still hung in orbit around Calengwag or the nascent shipyards of the scarred lady. It could not be helped, Authority retrofits took a considerable amount of time and the shipyards were nowhere close to completion.

Between the factors of Legion induction and the construction of the fleet it would take at least twelve Terran years to arrive at pre-Drem levels and an equivalent fleet compared to those of the other legions.

The first reinforcement fleet would be delivering a full two Battle Barge, eight Cruisers of various tonnages and twenty odd Frigates and Destroyers.

Which would bring the fleet total of Authority-enabled ships to one hundred and twenty Escorts, forty-eight Cruisers, twelve Battle Barges and my Avalon. And even that number would have my Astartes stretched thin among the fleet, a legion at good capacity would have no more than a squad to an Escort, a company to a Cruiser and three to a Battle Barge with my Gloriana able to carry as many as three thousand battle brothers.

It had been a touch rash to to be so impatient but I had insisted my legion not wait any longer before joining the Crusade. More than reckless, it was dangerous to commit maintain so many Astartes to so few ships.

Space warfare was a dangerous thing and far more so when the enemy was almost always to be an unknown.

The Mechanicum in that great age could produce ships at a rate which had shocked me when I had first seen the figures. It was logical of course given the ten if not hundreds of thousands of ships the Imperium would one day wield but to see it had been humbling.

Astartes however. The conversion was dangerous, their wargear expensive and the implantation process could not be shortened more than a half-decade without risking inadequate and potentially dangerous results.

A cruiser could be replaced in a Terran year, a company of Astartes in no less than six to say nothing of their vehicles and wargear.

It was for that reason that so few cells could be found in each ship compared to their scale and for that reason that only half of those rooms should be filled.

They were a priceless resource, to be spent with care in breaking foes which would slaughter a thousandfold their number in soldiers. To cut weaknesses that simply could not be seen to with weaker humans.

It was shameful how much I had simplified things in a past life.

I swallowed bile at the thought of my sons as tools and of the Seekers sworn to me as mere surrogates.

Alten'lo's confirmation stirred me from my distraction. "Yes, Lord Horus. It will be good to add bring more brothers into the Guilds."

"I confess that I am not certain why you are not raising more companies," Horus regarded me. "Your legion is yet young for your focus on reinforcing existing forces."

I shook my head, "I was certain that every unit is existing at minimal strength, I prefer to add men to existing units than forming new raids and oaths and sects. That would just give the young a chance to grow distant from their seniors."

Seekers often apprenticed for allies of their sires and joined into Parties which had hosted kin. Ritual and the familiarity of Calengwag were a safety measure. I intended for every formation larger than a Party to be a continuation rather than a unique creation.

Abaddon ground his teeth in thought before commenting, "That is certainly a different approach, Lord Ailbe."

"Nothing so much," Morygen finally spoke up in the formal tone that slipped in when she spoke to most outsiders. "We merely believe that a child should seek a place with his seniors."

…

It always came easy him, to sit in the darkness of his cell and to put all things from his mind save for his recollections of the past.

Meditation calmed him.

The properties of his body allowed it to last for days on the rare occasion time allowed.

It was a time of introspection, for delving into his memories and thinking of he what he might have done, what he might have said were he able to direct his past self.

It was not regret, the woman who raised him had always said that regrets were unworthy things.

It was a matter of looking to the past for what lessons it had to teach.

Mistakes were useful things in that regard, the man who had watched over him had often said that one learned more from mistakes than victories.

He took another breath into his lungs, he remembered the lessons that he had been taught when heroes still dwelled among mortals.

Now the heroes of the past marched between stars or rested in the Mounds of Tinta'gile, earthen hills interwoven with blades and statuary along with so many others felled in the years of war.

He had stepped there after he had been granted his branded armor, he had bowed before the tall hill which contained the one who had given him life. He had knelt before the shrine and offered a bundle of incense under a likeness he had never much resembled.

That had been a mistake on his part.

The Seekers did not often near the ruins of the slain town on their way to the White Forest but the Guardian Automata of the area had come close to naming him and undoing the work of years.

His meditation was disrupted by the sound of boots on the floor beyond the chamber.

The speed, the weight, the cadence.

"Hello Finn," He opened his eyes as his bunkmate stepped through the opening hatch into their shared cell.

The other Astartes rolled his eyes of rusted steel and shook his head, "You always do that."

It was not particularly difficult to tell Finn from the others of the two parties on their ship, he was lighter on his feet. Finn was thinly built for an Astartes and his quiet disposition was well matched to his sharp features.

"You should leave the cell more," He said with the tired, winded quality that always followed his words. The other Astartes had a few books borrowed from the Hundreds vault under his arm which he carefully laid next to his bedroll and table.

"I do leave," He answered Finn with an inkling of a smile as his eyes closed again.

"The bladeschool does not count," Finn commented as her laid his back on the wall behind his roll and cracked open a worn, red-covered book. It was likely medical tome given Finn's proclivities. "One would think that you are trying to scratch your face up on purpose."

"Perhaps I am indeed," He offered. He never took slight when others mentioned the marks that disfigured the left of his face, he knew that the marks garnered him no small amount of respect.

He had never been terribly fair to begin with, so it had been little loss.

And no one could say that he did not smile, half his face was always smiling after a fashion.

That jest had earned him a round of laughter when he had last sat on the long tables of the Incandescent.

"Wouldn't be surprising," Finn said with little interest as he flipped the page before adding. "We are to make warp-breach soon if I heard right."

"Is that so?" He asked.

Finn nodded in confirmation without looking up from his booking, "We are to meet our new father and mother."

He heard to touch of longing in his brother's bland words. He understood that sentiment, they all had as their ascension had gone on.

The desire to be recognized, the desire to return to the sires they had never met.

Well, that most had never met.

He supposed that he would have to cut his meditations short.

"Then we should begin preparations," He pulled himself up from his roll and walked over to one of the stands which flanked the cell. He starred into the white lenses of his bronze warhelm for a moment before pulling it off and walking back to his roll after grabbing an oiled rag from their shared desk.

He felt some anticipation building in his center as he began to polish the helmet.

"We cleaned our armor yesterday," Finn sighed.

"As we should every day," He shot back with something of mischief in his voice.

"If you like, Gareth," Finn lost interest after that, focusing on the book in his hands.

Gareth left it unsaid that it was the duty of a son to present himself in finest form, Finn merely sought to illustrate knowledge in the most beloved field of their sire while he sought to be exemplary as a warrior.

He had worked to be exemplary, for as long as he could remember, he had worked to be exemplary.

One day, it would draw the attention of his father.

Then he would remove his helmet.

And speak his true name for the first time in years.

That thought made him smile.


	59. Trial and Error VII (Galtine & Alten'lo)

"Suspension?" Morygen chuckled as she pulled herself up to rest her back on the tall headboard.

I frowned at her, "Yes, the suspension."

Being a Primarch had its drawbacks, from being able to process an uncomfortable amount of sensory data to weighing more than a literal ton.

Combined with the reference from my soul-imprint, I had spent decades without a truly comfortable bed and a complete inability to forget what I was missing.

The Mechanicum had tried but nothing short of gravity dilation would see me ever have a truly comfortable mattress again.

Morygen pushed her sweaty hair from her eyes and laughed heartily.

"I fail to see why that is funny," I said with the utmost dignity.

Her response was to curl forward, hands wrapped over her stomach as she gasped for air between bellows of amusement.

"You asked me how we could better our apartments," I added. "I had assumed that my input would be taken in good faith."

"Sorry," She said between breaths. "It's just… hahaha."

Some part of me idly noted that she was beautiful when she laughed to the point of tearing up.

I let her have her fill before she held up a hand in her defense, "You have to admit, that's not what the people of the Imperium are expecting a Primarch to complain."

"And I would welcome the people of the Imperium to not comment on my choices regarding bedrooms," I responded.

"We both know that they probably comment about one choice," She gave me a knowing look.

"Well," I smiled with some mischief of my own. "The Fear Gorta will be glad to make the acquaintance of that particular citizen and discuss their thoughts on the matter."

Before pulling their spines out through their mouths but that was neither here nor there.

Morygen snorted, "And they say that the Primarch's do not worry for the average man!"

"I worry very much for them," I said with as much magnanimity as I could summon on a pillow. "I especially fear for the 'soon to be spineless', I am very charitable in that regard."

"Oh, definitely," Morygen rolled her eyes. "You'll certainly care for a great deal of the Astartes in the other legions I imagine if your brothers are as violent as you predict."

"In retrospect father should have included reinforced spinal columns," I explained.

"No one expects Primarchs knees," Morygen chuckled.

"Or punches," I added. "A few of them are very fond of punching heads off of their men."

"That's a bit horrifying," Morygen said as passed a hand over my hair. "They're our children."

"It's a bit horrifying is it not?" I smiled. "I wonder if that is why Horus calls them his 'men' more than he calls them his 'sons'."

He used 'sons' more in my presence, an outgrowth of his propensity to mirror what our brothers' preferences were which had played a part in earning him his final title. He did not favor the term though.

Men, warriors, brothers, soldiers, troops and any of the others.

Those were easier to punish, to sacrifice and to kill. You could quarrel with a brother, you could sacrifice troops, execute a soldier and rejoice in the glorious downfall of a warrior.

It was harder to bury a son.

"We are not like them," I sighed. "We never can be, not fully."

"It feels a bit cruel," Morygen sighed. "It feels like we are voyeurs into the lives of many of them."

"Would you rather I had kept it from you?" I asked.

"Sometimes," Morygen shrugged. "But more often I'm grateful for it."

We had been together for nearly two decades in the years of Calengwag, an understanding came with time. We did not tell each other everything but that was more born from that trust than a lack of it, we trusted each other to speak up when it was time.

She doubtlessly knew of the fact that I could not sleep as surely as the uncertainty and discomfort that I could see in her eyes.

We would speak when we were ready.

That was just our way.

"Also," I chuckled. "'voyeur'?"

Morygen smacked my head playfully.

"I do know big words you know," She said with a decidedly unladylike snort.

That was not a lie, Morygen was not much of a reader by preference but she poured over reports and relevant data constantly. She did not like books, but she had a very low threshold for what constituted 'necessity'.

She was also a better orator when the mood struck.

"I like it when we can be like this," I commented as I put my head over her lap and she began to idly braid my hair.

It had been a rare thing for us to get a chance to enjoy a few hours together in the quiet privacy of our rooms since we had begun our first compliance and our time in transit was a savored opportunity.

It would be two more weeks before we arrived Four Thirteen and to engage in negotiations with the identified polity in that system. That was something to look forward to in its own way, a more righteous war and hopefully one where I would not have to take part in the incidental slaughter of innocent men and women.

"It's nice," Morygen agreed. "And it'll give our new sons time to get themselves used to operating with their new brothers."

"True," It had taken a few days at the system's edge to assimilate the fleet and begin the frantic process of ferrying Wargear between ships as raids, oaths and sects not only received their new brothers but also began settling into their new ship assignments.

I had made a point of formally meeting with every new party among the four thousand Astartes and welcoming them into the legion fleet. Time did not allow a much more intimate meeting than standing before a hundred Astartes at a time but I would rectify it as time allowed.

I had gone through the trouble of memorizing their names of course but that would not mean much until I had a chance to at least clasp wrists with each of them. Hopefully before I sent them to their potential demise.

"Speaking of which…" Morygen hesitated for a moment.

I felt my jaw stiffen immediately.

Hesitating was not some Morygen did, the woman had more or less claimed and then coerced me into marriage within a few months. Hesitation was not within her.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"Not wrong," She said carefully while tucking a braid behind my ear and moving to another handful of hair. "I was hoping that you could lend me Alten'lo."

It was an odd request, the Master of Gold was a strong contender for the busiest Astartes in the Legion due in no small part to his oversight of fleet logistics. He also spent a considerable amount of time instructing Astartes of his Guild and warrior-allocation besides. But Morygen knew that.

"Why?" I asked, curious at the request.

"I want him to teach me," She admitted. "I… I want something to do. You have enough to do without having to go over logistic reports from him and I hoped to take the role."

Oh.

"Is this what was bothering you?" I pulled myself up and repositioned myself to sit across from her.

"Part of it," She admitted. "I've got too much free time, you know how I am."

I blinked at that.

What had she been doing on the ship? She sparred with our sons on occasion, sometimes drank and… nothing else.

I frowned. "So you want to look into logistics?"

"I know you like to look things over," She scratched her cheek awkwardly. "But you and your father spent nearly half a decade messing with my brain, I have the capacity to learn it."

There was a trace of embarrassment to her request that made my frown deepen.

"Done," I said immediately. "I am sure that Alten would be happy to instruct you."

…

"You need to drink more, Alten," Trystane laughed as he refilled the other goblet.

"I drink enough I think, Trystane," Alten'lo retorted as he took a drink regardless to his counterparts amusement.

Trystane never ceased laughing, as Alten'lo had discovered to both his annoyance and begrudging amusement. Yet he found that he still liked the debonair rogue which had been elevated to his counterpart, they had developed something of an understanding since the years of their first meeting.

Trystane was his sires longest ally to still draw breath, an exemplar of the lifestyle from which their brothers were drawn tempered with faultless loyalty and the respect of his people. Where he was the former Legion Master, chosen when the Legion was first raised and unfairly deemed both the most respected and representative member of the Legion as it had been before the legions were bound. So their father opted to strike a balance and make them his hands, both aspects of the legion distilled into one.

It was a good move by his own assessment.

"You do not drink nearly enough," Trystane laughed more quietly as he eased back into his seat. His eyes sobered and he frowned. "So, Four Thirteen?"

"The natives called it Síobhra apparently," Alten'lo nodded. It was their habit to take each other's council after briefings and meetings of the Round, there was sense to it as neither was like to find a more inverse opinion in the fleet. "Certainly appropriate."

"And grim," Trystane commented as he looked to the shelves of tomes which lined Alten'lo's rooms. "Do not forget grim."

He could not disagree with his brother's assessment.

As the explorators communications would have it the people of Síobhra were cursed, every three generations in their reckoning, a fleet would come of great and eldritch power. A fleet which destroyed whatever defenses were raised against it and decimated the rebelling populace. Creatures in sublime and nauseating armor would descend from the heavens then with their forms bathed in an odd, inward light and take their tithe from the survivors. Thousands of children were taken in good times and tenfold that number at others, vanishing in the grips of their captors before the fleets would once more vanish into the void.

That harvest was mere months away by Terran standards.

They took the name of children said to be swapped in the cradles of ancient Terra for the young of spirits, a sort of prayer that their children might have survived in some strange way.

Alten'lo could find a sort of irony in their plight being answered by those wrought in a not dissimilar fashion, children made into something not fully human.

The difference was in consent and result. The Second had first been mustered from the families of officials across Terra, children volunteered from families and dynasties where a third or fourth son might be seen as a rival or an inconvenience to a preferred heir. Children given to sires which could not be called truly human and remade in their image. But they were made into the guardians of men, creatures that retained humanity in their cores and served it in turn.

He was much less certain such a fate awaited the stolen children.

"They disembark," Trystane noted idly as he stirred the goblet in his hand. "Which means that they are either fine warriors or have grown arrogant enough to not expect resistance."

"That was my thought as well," Alten'lo nodded while tossing a data-slate over to his peer who caught it as a second thought. "Astropathic messages are not flawless but my estimation is Eldar based on the descriptions."

"Eldar," Trystane mouthed the word as he flicked through Alten'lo's evaluation before shaking his head. "It would match the physical description."

"But it does not match the motive," Alten'lo read his friend's analysis. "All encounters show them as manipulators or destroyers, not as flesh-collectors."

"Inner light does match the few engagements we have seen with them before," Trystane allowed. "Green and violet have not been recorded as standard colors however."

"It remains a theory until proven or refuted," Alten'lo shrugged. "We can only plan around their recorded methods until then."


	60. Trial and Error VIII

The star system of Four Thirteen was a generously proportioned thing, seven planets orbiting a sphere of sapphire and platinum light that the Síobhras called the Kindly Lord.

Síobhra proper was a terrestrial orb of crisp, blue seas surrounding wide mountain ranges which gave way to masses of landlocked deserts. Most of the advanced states dwelled along the fertile coasts and mineral-rich mountain ranges while the vast deserts were harsh, wind-scarred places not heavily peopled. The Mechanicum forces had already detected signs of orbital bombardment along the vast deserts which when taken along with the ample ruins choked under the sands, suggested that Síobhra had not always borne its present form under human claim.

The Expeditionary Fleet hung over the archipelago which served as the capital of the state union which represented them in our negotiations. Thousands of goliaths swimming around the comparably small figure of the Síobhras only orbital platform fit to receive emissaries.

The largest of the monstrous ships floated around the small structure, sisters born to carry the greatest works of man's martial craft.

Horus had suggested that the war council be held onboard the Avalon, a move in deference to the fact that most of the last campaign's war council had been held over the Vengeful Spirit.

There were rooms suited for more general gatherings, auditoriums with enough seating in the galleries to sit a thousand soldiers. But naturally the best suited place aboard the Avalon was the Round Chamber.

The great table was quite a gift, white Terran stone gave it a strong and stout form adorned by a great sunburst of copper belied the small workings of technology worked within. Far from short of the task, the great table could easily sit forty if need be so Horus and his advisors fit easily around its width.

"They are terrified," I noted as the last of us took our seat.

"Straight to business then?" Horus asked with a sly look as he tapped the throne he had taken. "And here I was about to thank you for the chair."

Said chair was a tall throne of obsidian and silver capped with a topaz-eyed wolf of black marble reaching out from a moon of diamond.

"Well I cannot have you breaking my chairs brother, we are all a touch heavy."

Everyone around the great table had thrones tailored to their size and station after all, it would be rude to not provide my brother with a fitting place.

"Very Fair," He smiled smoothly. "And yes," I would say that the Overchief seemed rather frightened."

"Can't say I pity him," Abaddon's face was curled in disgust. "He seemed like he would give the tribute himself if it would save his ass."

"I am not sure it needed saving," Trystane mimicked horror, a strange expression on an Astartes. One of the peculiarities of the table and the granite chamber was the ease with which sound traveled to all present despite the distance between us. "I did not think old, wrinkly and cowardly was your preference."

Abaddon gave him a dim look, "To the point as usual Trystane."

"I do agree though," Trystane let his humor fade. "He began with offering us a lesser tithe. I think most humans would not react well between Xenos, foreigners and his own subjects looking for a head to take."

"It's shameful," Abaddon shook his head. "You know it is."

"It is," Trystane agreed.

"Lover's quarrel aside," Percivale said thoughtfully as he tapped his throne and the data feeds before each of us began listing names, the quietest among my council ignoring the confused looks at his comments and shows of amusement. "It is likely that the enemy maintain an informant among the chiefs."

"I agree," Maloghurst nodded. "It is foolish to watch an asset unwatched and it would match initial reports from what your agents have gleaned."

"Gleaned is an ugly word, no?" Caice smiled, his nearly closed eyes strange on a giant of his scale. "Friends is a better word, yes?"

"Well I count you all my friends," Horus laughed, assuming control of the chamber again. "But rather than concern, I would instead call this an opportunity."

"I would be glad for the opportunity to send these Xenos bastards out of our world," Berabaddon smiled.

"And we will at that," Horus assured the Astartes beneath the gibbous moon. "But we must be thankful, if they are indeed Eldar then we will have a rare chance to board their wretched vessels and track them back to their nest."

"That would be a 'Craftworld' unless I am mistaken Lord," Tor Galath asked as he scrolled through his data feed with an enthusiastic smile. "They are quite beautiful according to your records, quite the site to see."

"Its Xenos," Abaddon frowned. "The only beauty will be in its destruction."

The Guildmaster of Sapphire nodded with out paying much attention to the First Captain. "There can be beauty in its sight and its destruction, no need to be crossed."

"I am not 'crossed'," Abaddon rolled his eyes while Berabaddon chuckled.

"I do not know about that First Captain," The older Mournival snickered. "Your topknot seems a bit bothered."

Horus was giving me a light glare as the topknot debate was once more roused to life, it had not been an expected ripple but apparently there was something of an ongoing debate about the hairstyle in the sixteenth legion with Ezekyle's particularly tall accessory at the epicenter.

I gave him an apologetic look before clearing my throat and pulling the conversation back into an at least somewhat professional sphere.

"So we are agreed to move on the Craftworld if they prove to indeed be Eldar then?" I asked.

It was my custom to speak little at councils, my brothers were talkers more often than not and liked to dominate meetings. So I let everyone else talk and just spoke to guide and punctuate the conversations when there was a need.

"If we are so lucky," Horus agreed.

"I would caution against rash action," Alten'lo spoke up. "The required force could be potentially beyond costly."

"It would be cowardly to not act," Abaddon growled before settled into a frown and sighing. "Although you are right, rushing into this battle with anything less than our full force is a death sentence."

"This is all purely academic at any rate," Dinada pointed out before looking to my chief navigator. "How soon before we detect warp disruptions, Lady Bolas?"

"Eldar ships are odd," Megaera shrugged. "They delve deep into the sea and emerge as if there was a tear from below if I was to use a metaphor."

"I am inclined to agree with the child's comparison," The thin, clean shaven man who directed the Vengeful Spirit agreed with my own Navigator while ignoring the satyr's glare of annoyance at the reference to her relative use. "They will appear with little premonition if both of our previous encounters with them have given me a fair reference."

"Then they could come and leave before we could react," Karaddon the Phlegmatic of the Mournival spoke up with a frown.

"It is a possibility that they might leave before we even feel their echoes," Kerukeion shook his crowned head with a thoughtful frown. "Although… they are rather reliant on their psychic nature if I understand correctly. Perhaps they would not predict the Authority? They are still so unknown, we can do little more than hazard a guess."

"If I may," The Ship-Master of the Vengeful Spirit cleared his throat. "It was my understanding that the Authority was still months away from functioning."

"Your understanding is imperfect," The Arch-Magistrix Kagu'Tsuchi shook her slopping head. "The strain was nearly inconsequential from such a short jump now that the fleet has expanded. The Authority will be fully functional in one hundred hours, twelve minutes and thirty six seconds as of last estimate.

Well, we could know more. The ten Custodes standing at the entrance to the chamber probably knew a great deal on the subject of the Eldar. Not that I would mention that of course, my father had yet to make mention of the Webway to me and I had little desire to presume.

"Then we will cover ourselves until the final moment and seek to capture a Xenos suitable to guide us back to their nest?" I asked my brother.

"And present father with a shattered world if we are fortunate," Horus smiled.

"I do not think that our foes will find it fortunate," Morygen sighed.

…

"A witch?" Caice asked after meeting had adjourned and Horus had departed back to the Vengeful Spirit.

"They will have one," I nodded while starring at my Round, everyone present knew of my 'gift for prophecy'. "I want you to bring it to me in chains, you will need to take the Balor with you."

The Balor.

I had to admit that it was a touch dramatic but the eighty Voidbanes within the Legion had taken a liking to the name when I had explained its origin to them.

The Balor Spirit-Eaters, in their warplate of black and silver.

"I can guide them well enough," Kerukeion stroked the rod sticking from his chin as it were a beard. The High Astropath had something mischievous dancing in his milky eyes. "If our Lady Onyx binds us then I can feed them the data through their uplinks, a Xenos mind is an easy thing to feel even without my Amplificators."

"Eldar,' Mendicant Onyx purred through the Vox embedded in the walls. "They lorded over us for so long, distant cretins using pretenses of age and wisdom to lord their technology over us… I would very much like to drag them through the mud."

Dinada looked up at the ceiling of the chamber and sighed, "Then leave us something to board this time."

"You may do that easily enough once I have torn out their fangs and claws," The Mendicant sniffed with indignity.

"This is an interesting opportunity," The Arch-Magistrix nodded at the 'Machine-Spirit's" bloodlust. "It presents us with an opportunity to try the fleet against a faster opponent, there will be considerable opportunity to improve designs from the data of the battle."

"Not to be detract from the general anticipation," Alten sighed, once more relegated to the voice of reason. "But we are uncertain that they are even Eldar."

"They are," I sighed. "Green and purple, Emerald and Violet. And this."

I pressed my throne and a rune flared to life over the table, a rune shaped like the side profile of a helmet with a great crest.

"I have seen that sigil in my father's library," Vaguely true. "That is the emblem of Il-Kaithe, although seeing them so far from the Heart of the Void is strange."

That silenced the round, for better or worse in the years since I had claimed each of them, they had come regard my words when I spoke in such a way as immutable law.

Not the healthiest propensity but one which I could not fault them for.

"Is that why you did not mention it to Horus?" Morygen leaned forward on the table and rested her chin over her tented fingers.

"At least in part," I nodded. "The behaviour is irregular though, so I want a witch. Two if you can, one I can present to Horus and another for our own cells."

"Well that is a bit dishonest, no?" Morien chuckled. Mirth evident in his eyes of brilliant silver which cast a striking contrast against the ebon of his skin. "Secrets between brother is such a sad thing at times."

"At times?" Alten'lo asked while raising a bushy brow.

"Well it does not help to know who spent the last coin," Morien said with an innocent smile.

"Of course you would say that," Dinada rolled his eyes.

"You wound me!" Morien put a hand to his breastplate while mimicking the expression of a kicked puppy. "I am but a humble man of humble means, no? Why do you accuse me of these things?"

"And we return to this again," Trystane rolled his eyes.

"Should we speak of your debts, Trystane?" Percivale asked.

"Well now there is no need for that," The Master of Ruby held up his hands in his defense.

Tor watched his brothers bicker with amusement.

Meetings of the Round tended to go this route, Calengwag was wrought by ritual but Seekers tempered that with an easy brotherhood that the others still had a visible discomfort around.

"It'll be interesting to fight Eldar," Morygen smiled. "You said that they were fast."

"Looking forward to the fight?" I asked her.

"Somewhat," She admitted. "I think I might go with them."

"As long as you are safe," I smiled.

"I'll keep her safe," Caice waved me off. "Does not make sense to acquire a mother only to lose her, no?"


	61. Trial and Error IX (Gilganeyk PoV)

The runes clattered on the floor of the chamber. The ancient symbols of pale wraithbone struck the ground while quiet words echoed in the small chamber of identical make. The had been cast with force, both in hope of a change and frustration at the repetition of the gesture. Some landed and stuck at contact while others bounced back up and spun, once and twice and even thrice before striking down.

They had landed the same way.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

Each and every time they clattered down into the same message, in different places and different runes but the meaning stayed the same.

Nothing.

She let go of a breath, a touch of exasperation slipping in and giving unseemly force to it.

Each and every time that she had cast the runes, the meaning was unchanging.

Nothing of note, nothing eventful. The skein of fate flowed without event, there was nothing to fear.

Nothing.

But that was the problem.

There was an edge to that prediction, the smallest ripple in the skein that was beyond her skill to tease out. None of the other Seers felt it when she had raised her objection, they had felt her apprehension but did not see the ripple.

So they sent her on the harvest, there was too much value, too much importance for the harvest to be allowed to fail.

Yet for all of their weeks of travel, the result was the same.

Nothing.

She had nearly abandoned her efforts when for just a moment, her entire thread vanished from fate.

Picking up the runes again, she looked at them for a moment before closing her hand around them.

She glared at her fist, willing the runes to reveal what the future foretold.

The runes clanged again when she threw them.

Nothing.

"Khaine take you," she spit the curse at the runes in an outburst that revealed her relative youth. She sat down on the wraithborn floor, staring at the runes as if they might move of their own accord.

She was grateful for the solitary nature of the sanctum she had been given on the vessel. The others aboard the Webwing did not need to see her uncertainty.

It was unfortunate but the Fall had made many on their Craftworld like squalling babes, looking to the Seers not just as guides but as infallible.

It was pathetic, that a new generation had been born and raised in cowardice.

That her Craftworld was already called 'brave' was sickening, there was nothing glorious about clinging to her and her kin.

She put the thought out of her mind, anger and frustrations was a dissonance that echoed through the skein, rendering the future impenetrable.

She was eventually forced to break from her casting when the lowered light of her chamber was cut with light as the doors pulled open to admit another Aeldari.

She felt the familiar presence of the Orobyn, second of Admiral Menelkra on the Webwing.

"Seer," He had a rich, confident voice which matched the light excitement to his step. "The Admiral inquires as to what the runes read."

"Nothing irregular," Gilganeyk spread her fingers in a show of acceptance which she did not quite feel, the shards of her years along the Path of the Artisan. "The harvest should progress without fault."

Perhaps, she might have added. They would not thank her for that vagueness but it was true, there was nothing.

There might be more to it, there was something more to it but she did not see it.

"That is fortunate," Orobyn smiled at her as she turned to regard him. An explosive gesture which she thought more than a touch unseemly. "The Admiral hopes that you will join him on the bridge, we should emerge soon."

Gilganeyk was aware that she was a fine example of beauty, graceful in step and fair in features with a long mane of gold and ebony.

It was part of her preference to wear her ghosthelm for that very reason, it was frustration that had led her to defer from her preferred course.

She latched the conical headpiece into place as she stood up in a single smooth action.

"Is there a need for such a measure?" Orobyn's unnecessary smile faded to a more earnest suggestion of good humor. His slighter laugh was more honest as well, she liked that more than his crass behaviour. He was actually a handsome male and not as crass as his unsubtle attempts might be.

She rewarded his honesty with a half-truth.

"I am wary of battle," She shrugged.

"I forget your youth," Orobyn said with less humor. "I once took a few steps along the path of khaine, it is a bloody path but I can understand the fear for the inexperienced."

Gilganeyk was glad the helm kept an admittedly petulant frown from her expression.

She was young to walk the path of the Seer, having walked less than a handful of paths before the call came for her but she did not appreciate the reminder.

"There is no need to fear," he continued in a more solemn pitch as they treaded through the organic halls of the mighty Void Stalker, a few others in the plate of the Guardians following their step while Mariners traveled in packs from on duty to the other. "The stock sometimes offer some resistance but the harvests have been untroubled since before the Fall."

"I am well aware," she inclined her head minutely. "And I do not wish to demean your mastery, it is merely my want to be certain."

"Then rest assured," The male insisted. "The fleet size is merely a safety measure."

She understood his confidence, the Seers and Farseers with centuries if not millennia of experience in reading the skein had not felt the tug at the threads.

Had it not reappeared in that one moment, she might have dismissed it herself as nothing but a stray thread in the infinity of possible paths of fate, even as a misreading brought about by her own inexperience.

She was about to agree with the Mariner when the ship rippled into the realspace of the system and she felt it.

A scream ripped out of her lungs as she lost control of her knees and fell to the deck, only the quick reflexes of one of her guardian escorts and Orobyn stopping her from hitting the wraithbone floor.

"What's happened?" Orobyn shouted with urgency.

But she could not answer, the nothingness revealed itself.

The ripple became a tsunami, a crushing wave like jaws latched onto the threads of fate and tugging at them with wild abandon. Threads and cords vanishing into the blank abyss of its formless gullet as the surviving threads were slowly infected by the nothingness.

"The bridge!" She hissed out. "The bridge!"

She needed to stop the Admiral.

…

The bridge of the Webwing was a flurry of activity, Mariners operating their stands along the walls around the viewing deck and the elevated throne of the Admiral.

Admiral Telsho Menelkra raised a gaunt brow in concern at Gilganeyk as she held forced her way forward, relying on Orobyn for support. One of the Guardians carried her inert staff, forgotten in her urgency along with any pretense of dignity.

"Seer," She acknowledged. "You look unwell."

"Well enough, admiral," Gilganeyk forced out, her mind was still being ravaged by the thing which had dug its fangs into the skein. "We must change our course."

The admiral widened her brilliant amber eyes at the young Seers words.

"We have just emerged from the Webway," She responded immediately. Centuries of age giving way to the shell-shocked deference for those who could see the ways of fate, moreso given Gilganeyk's sorry state. "It will be some time before the fleet can return and our mission."

"It will have to wait," Gilganeyk snapped in irritation, she would never consider speaking so against one of such august rank but the pain of the thing chewing on fate drawing closer had her lips pulled back into a snarl beneath her helm. "We must retreat immediately."

"We are already in the orbit of our destination," The admiral frowned. "Surely we can conduct a rushed harvest before departi-"

"Contacts!" Yelled one of the navigators from his station with an edge of uncertainty.

The Admiral's que swung as her head snapped towards the officer while Gilganeyk's jaw locked and her teeth ground as the nothing revealed itself.

"How is this possible?" She snapped at the confused navigator. "The sensors."

"They are fine, admiral." One of the other Mariners shouted in confusion. "Over a thousand contacts bearing down on us! No disruption in the Sea of Souls, they must have hidden somehow."

The admiral took a breath and tapped one of the growths on her throne, dismissing her concern and showing her years of experience as she began shouting orders demanding reports and issuing orders to the remainder of the fleet while processing the information at a speed which dizzied Gilganeyk.

Over a thousand ships of the Mon-keigh had somehow appeared in orbit around the stock-world without warning. Tenfold the number of the greatest resistance that the Harvest had ever met with vessels being reported by the long-sighted Aeldari sensors which had somehow deadened themselves from both fate and the psychic nature of their technology until their fleet had revealed itself.

But she only felt some of them, a fraction of their number felt wrong. They were fragments of the nothingness receded into razors ripping through the skein as they converged towards the position of the fleet.

They were nothing defined by their displacement, an emptiness whose non-existence ate into the fate of everything they touched like the plague victims of ancient legend.

She felt a fear well up in her gut as she realized that her thread's end was quickly coming along with many of those of many of the ships in the fleet.

"It is their vessels!" She shouted through her pain. "They are interfering with the psychic aura's of the other craft!"

The admiral gave her a careful look as the ships thrummed with raising holofields and accelerating engines. "That is impossible, Seer. Even during their height in the time of my great-grandfather, their fleets were unable to hide from the reach of the Skein, the Mon-keigh had declined-"

"And so have we if we are going to ignore the evidence before us!" She snapped back at her elder.

The pain became worse as the fleet neared and the pretense of nothing began to fade away.

She felt the pain of the Sea which chased the ships, the specters of a wrathful warp trying to free themselves from the path of the ships before being torn into nothingness by their advance.

There was something visceral in the spectacle of their advance which made Gilganeyk consider whether she should attempt to pry off her ghosthelm to avoid emptying her stomach into it.

The nothing began to develop a character of its own as the ships of brutally simplistic design came closer, an undercurrent of anger and bloodthirst to their advance which brought to mind the slathering jaws of rabid beasts as they circled their prey.

"Seer!" The admiral snapped her from her shock. Gilganeyk realized that she had been speaking her thoughts aloud and that a number of the Mariners were casting wary looks in her direction. "You are obviously ill. Return to your chambers, battle is dangerous and I would not risk your talents here, your escort will see you back to your chambers."

She knew that the admiral was correct, she was less than useless at present. Her blathering only serving to unnerve the crew now preparing to fight for their fleet's survival.

She was about to excuse herself when the nothingness screamed.

Words like teeth bit into the meat of every brain present as the searing nothingness roared its challenge in a chorus of telepathic screams, each word girded and sheathed in the nothingness as if the void had sprouted maws.

"We are of Onyx," It's words were barely contained flashes of hungry chokes, like the sound of thunderclaps given enough sequence to be words.

"We are the wrath of Calengwag given wings to soar across the stars, may our claws hook into their bones, may our fangs puncture their hearts." It continued to choke out its psychic echo which tore into their consciousness lips taloned claws digging into the sides of their brains.

"You will learn to fear us and you will carry that fear into the Void beneath the world!" It thundered as the first volley of missiles bit into the flanks of the Webwing.

Then the music started.


	62. Trial and Error X

The warfleet of ghostly ships had appeared over the heavens of the world, appearing over the blasted plains as if they had always before. But they did not go unchallenged.

The desert clans of Síobhras looked up to see their sky on fire as thousands of lights flickered against the dawning sky, newborn suns flared in and out of existence across the fading gloom of night as in the tales of old.

Beyond their atmosphere the war in the heavens become something else, something unlike anything seen in millennia as phantasmal beasts wrought from distilled dreams made war against bronze swords crackling with the white of oblivion.

The figures raced between themselves, a dazzling scene of eldritch weapons roaring like the hunting cries of divine birds of prey as they clawed at each other with erupting stars, streaks of sickly energy and eruptions of titanic shells. The phantasm-ships seemed more akin to great raptors as their sails spirited them away from god-killing bursts of energy even while beams cut across reality from their hulls towards their foes, only for the ships to burst out of existence before impact and burst back into being heartbeats away from their prey.

All the while a blaring chorus echoed through the minds of every soul guiding the great constructs, every soul in the great fleet awaiting on the opposing side of the planet and every man, woman and child on the surface of the planet below. Dragging them, binding them and subsuming them into the song.

It came to their mouths even as the ancient tongue not spoken in millennia forced its way into their lips, their hearts racing to match the drums, cordz and horns, their breathing being forced into a time with the tune.

Human and Aeldari fingers and commands became subsumed to the song as they were pulled by the demands of the music even as they themselves pulled on the reins of the greats beasts over whom they claimed command.

The Oathsong of the Second was not a mere addition, not some mere touch to add a flair to their battles.

Rather it was the battles had become an accompaniment to the song.

It was the battle that became the subject of the Authority, machine and flesh interlinked through psychic resonance and steel-cleaved meat.

The skill of hundreds of years of Aeldari void war was matched by the autodidactic brilliance of the last Mendicant and the golden navigators of the legion. Thousands of minds mono-maniacally honed towards the dance of behemoths matched themselves against the prowess the behemoth which had felled hundreds of its kind in the kin-war which had nearly extinguished their makers. Those who had weathered the final ripples of the Doom forcing order into their minds in the wake of devouring demands of abomination they fought.

Hundreds of great ships danced with a grace which befuddled all known precepts of human void doctrine. The great monsters unleashing volleys and evading them at ranges which would have been deemed beyond the point of madness with a perfection which would have broken a lesser foe in the span of heartbeats. Between them swarms of thousands of lesser craft crashed into each of like waves of two opposing oceans, formations of sleek craft dancing at the edge of death to cull swarms of bulky craft only to in turn by matched by the great rocs with their transhuman pilots, sword-storms of the Bloody-Handed against the murders born of the Lightning Lord's genius. The broods of blood and storm were a chorus to the great thundering voices of the greater beasts, the hum and sizzling of lance weapons cleaving through the finest work of mars a soprano to the heavy bass of great shells and las shattering the painstaking work of ancient bonesingers.

With every heartbeat, a new singer died in the crescendo of a detonating star, a death-scream to years of toil and skill. Yet the titans warred on without loss as the lesser dancers were destroyed. Great sails danced and impenetrable armor laughed with the blows that saw their lesser kin erased from existence.

The horror and euphoria of witnessing the truest expression of the Machine God's destroyer-aspect held the tech adepts enraptured as the bulk of the human fleet witnessed from the safety of the moon's shadow the battle between the Xenos fleet and the Second Legion. Mortal witnesses were torn between the exhilaration of the song pounding in their minds and anxiety for the battle's result. Astartes waited with mounting impatience in their drop pods and dropships, decades of experience and inhuman training keeping a lid on their desire to add their own voices to the mounting battle, the skill and savagery on display making their impatience worse. Warriors in bronze and white waited by their thousands, those of the Dawn closing their eyes and filling the vox with their choir. Only the sole figure aboard the great white ship held with patience, idly tapping a finger on his command table in time with the Oathsong, almond eyes glaring at the command display like a wolf waiting for his prey to show weakness so that he may rip out its throat.

The very lack of death amongst the giants only drove the hunger of the spectators further, each blow evaded or survived only adding to the suffocating tension of all, waiting like circling carrion for one of the two forces to bear its meat as its flesh is torn open.

The bloodlust radiated through both sides of the battle even as the white of the Authority clawed at the reaching hands of the god who most craved the sensation, outrage echoed beyond the war as the hungering maw of blood was kicked away from the drops of dripping blood. White tears seemed to arc across raw space in heartbeats as the eldritch engines within the bronze ships shined like phantom stars.

It was their war. Through the pain came feral smiles and hums of anticipation to the Aeldari, something unknown digging into the masks of warrior and mariner alike to match the maniac zeal of their foes.

It would have been a slaughter had it been an equal fight, a thing to be written of in saga and legend until the end of time itself.

But it was not.

The graceful dancers of the Aeldari were far too few, their flesh too thin and their foes too strange. It was to their merit that outnumbered against a foe whose very presence disrupted their thoughts with their infernal death-cries and hungering song, they had managed to hold on for so long.

But the dance would have to stop. It would end as soon as the first of the dancers was broken.

It had been known as Ember Hawk and its death was beautiful.

The trifold wings buckled under the strain of a macro round breaking through its engines and sending it tumbling into the treacherous grasp of the world below. Wraithbone groaned as the wings were pulled into the body like a hawk preparing for a dive from which it would never escape.

A final round punctured its heart as it fell, filling the sky with a sun of newborn fire for just a moment before it vanished into a rain of molten debris.

That signaled the death of many more.

A crescendo of dying ships followed as the mother of the bronze thrust into the thick of the fighting.

Thrusters burst to life across the frame of her great wings as it surged forward and shattered into a burst of light before reappearing under a wounded cruiser seeking to retreat ramming through it in completion of its action. The tempo of the battle picked up along with the oathsong, it's mockery of fate becoming a cruel thesis of annihilation.

The Aeldari fought harder, ghostly weapons felling a great battleship while the greatest of their ships fended off packs of the flickering destroyers and frigates clothed in bronze. They claimed more ships in abandoning survival, they would die but they bring a hundred-fold their number with them into the abyss.

Breaking ships did not flee, they accelerated towards the ships of their foes like the flaming swords of the Vaul himself. They pushed their failing engines with suicidal fervor into the great ships of man, cries of outrage on their lips.

For every ship that flickered out of existence, one was struck. Where some shrugged the blows, others were wounded by the ferocity of the assault.

The queen of the human fleet shrugged off twin cruisers attempting to impale her, moving out of their way with contemptuous ease before arrays of plasma snapped them like twigs underfoot.

Then came the killing stroke as dreadclaws launched themselves by the hulls of the bronze ships, biting through lesser ships with their cutting arrays before sinking their talons into the scarred flesh of the surviving Aeldari. Teleportation arrays flared to life like spears of lightning across the battlefield as teams of warriors launched themselves into the bridges of the Xenos ships.

It was with triumphant roars that the bronze fleet cut through the weapon systems of Aeldari, gutting the ships of their wings, their sails and engines like butcher's flensing the choice cuts from bone.

As the storm of the battle faded, the haze of war cleared and the Second went about latching themselves to dying Aeldari ships as the Authority overwhelmed the systems of the ships within and drove countless spirit stones fleeing into the depths of their gems.

Aboard each vessel new battles began. Fearsome warriors wearing the many paths of Khaine lead teams of armored Guardians against their foes.

But where fleet had fought with desperate but enviable skill through the wracking storm of the Authority, the furious visage of the War Mask was ill-suited to direct exposure to the brunt of the Authority. The cold discipline of the Mariner better suited against these foes than the murder-lust of the Warrior. Visages cracked beneath the scything blades of the bronze warriors as they advanced through the ships. These invaders brought doom with them as the wraithbone beneath them cracked and moaned beneath their boots.

Captains and their crew put on brave final stands against the warriors, but these actions were ultimately futile. Blade-shells cleaved through the flanks of brave warriors and thermo-reactive shells detonated into armor, fragmenting it into thousands of shards as the flesh below became scorched.

The psychic assault of the invaders saw many guardians falling in terror, the few giants to fall only stoking the murderous calm of the warriors as they worked their way through the ships like a foul cancer.

These minute engagements continued for hours as the Luna Wolves led remaining fleet to the broken and wounded vessels to offer aid to their brothers. Horus Lupercal personal coordinated the search flights scouring the debris for cousins which may have survived the death of their ships.

In the end the Legion had lost ten frigates, six cruisers and a single battle barge. The damage mitigated by the Primarch moving half his legion's force to the crammed bays of his brother's fleet. Nearly a hundred sons slain in dying ships and riding the great storm-born craft of their grandsire and lord.

In return, they had added a hundred and twenty dead Eldar ships to their legion's kill tally. A first strike against an unknown foe and a fierce fight for which they had paid but a handful of ships, many of which the Mechanicum could yet stoke back to life.

A fine victory, a victory which culminated in the Avalon sinking her boarding fangs into wounded Eldar flagship.

The Authority proved its worth against the most perfidious of races that day.

In coming centuries, the Aeldari would come to give it a different name. A name which would serve as a parable against trusting in the certainty of fate.

Cn'aidiache, That Which Gnaws At Fate.

Some would look at it with horror, some but not all...


	63. Trial and Error XI (Gilganeyk PoV)

They had fought hard.

Orobyn has tossed her into her chambers as the infernal racket gnawing at their minds as the monstrous Mon'keigh carved their way through the ship.

She waited with her staff in hand and fear alive in her as the pathways which composed her fate like strands in a greater thread were bitten away by the foul thing that screamed its hatred of fate into her mind.

She cursed herself for never knowing the path of the Blood-Handed, she had no way to defend herself beyond the simplest application of psychic might. Those who took up the blades of the Warlock knew to wield the lens of war over their minds to reshape their thoughts into weapons. The great farseers could tug and pull at the fates to assert impossibilities onto reality.

Gilganeyk was a mere Seer, she could do none of these things even if her focus was not besieged by the thing which was biting at the skein.

The ship rocked under her as the Webwing was forced beyond even the dampening protections of its arcane mechanisms.

All the while she could do little more than sit and attempt to force clarity into her mind, she could not even resort to the comfort of levitation, so she could merely sit and try to cling to her sanity as the war continued beyond.

The battle beyond was not one which they would triumph from and she hoped against hope that the transports which were to follow them would somehow detect their losses and turn back into the depths of the webway.

She waited, ready to attempt some dance or action which would allow her to not meet oblivion cowering and empty-handed.

She had returned to that position every time some pull or impact knocked her from her feet or flung her against a wall, robbing her of the grace which was gifted to each of her race. But she returned to the same position, it was a matter of stubborn pride. If she was to die, she would die with something resembling dignity.

The death of the ship's engines had been accompanied by a flicker in the light emanating from the hull, a moment of shock through the energy matrices of the vessel.

The thuds after that had been the warning of the landing.

She had felt the fear of the others through the pain, glimpses of giants in bronze armor with the stink of the Mon'keigh but twisted into something twisted as well as foul. They were not like their lesser kin, they moved with a grace and economy of motion that was the match of the Aeldari married to a titanic might and resilience that was as great as it was unseemly.

But her fear redoubled as she felt something else.

Something looked to Gilganeyk, something in the nothingness looked to her with hunger as the giants changed their course.

They were coming for her.

With every step, her countless paths were felled by the thousands.

Fear beat in her heart with a fluttering pace as she forced her breathing to even out.

But then she felt new steps on the ship.

Steps more horrible than the giants, steps which she felt not from the pain of the ship or the deaths of her fellows. No, she felt them in the depths of her soul.

The were hungering voids which moved towards her with singular focus as all save for the mighty Aspect Warriors turned away from them and ran in impossible shame.

Her grip on her staff tightened to a crushing force.

Gilganeyk felt the bonesingers and warlocks aboard the ship vanishing into the abyss of similar echoes but they were mere afterthoughts.

They wanted her.

She felt the deaths of her protectors while the Webwing died around her.

The sickness in her guts coiled as she herself ready to gag despite the furious growl on her features under her ghosthelm.

The pain, sorrow and fear assaulted her composure as much as they made her crave to be brave.

Unfortunately, they won over her discipline as the first strikes her door and Gilganeyk of House Deliphei voided the contents of her bowels through her throat into the interior of her helm.

She pried it off desperately in an attempt clear her face of the revolting substance even as her lapsed control could not stop her from lurching onto her robes and the ground of her chamber. Any attempt of dignity ruined as she gave way to weeping while trying to clean herself as the crashing at the door stopped and she heard the voids speaking among themselves in the brutal tongue of the Mon'keigh.

Gilganeyk could not speak their tongue but she could hear amusement, they had heard her.

There was irony in that, those she had derided had died bravely with their heads held high and no regard for their own survival. While she was reduced to a weeping child cowering in soiled robes while her foes laughing at her coming doom.

Then something strange happened.

The music stopped and the nothingness instantaneously became transmogrified.

The biting fangs in her mind became the gentle strokes of a mother, the loud screaming of war became a quiet, gentle hum.

Gilganeyk looked to the doors in confusion while skein vanished in its entirety.

She was within it now, within the nothingness that had been the ripple in her reading of the skein.

That had been the ripple.

That had been why only she could see it.

She had seen her own fate.

The gates were forced open by white-tipped ebon gauntlets and a lone figure emerged from them.

They were not voids any longer.

They were just other transient entities within the depths of the things she had no word for.

The figure was female.

A Mon'keigh in armor of clinking bronze and whirling steel.

It walked with a phantasmal ease which seemed in grotesque parody of one her kin, Aeldari grace on the horribly exaggerated proportions of a human.

In one hand it had a long blade of strange metal which hurt her eyes to see.

Worse was her face.

Her visage was that of a Daemon.

Her helmet was the face of a greater servant of She Who Thirsts.

The bovine and yet Aeldari face was a thing of horrible beauty, the visage of nightmare. Yet it was also wrought in a mockery of what it was. Its face was the grey of a dead thing, its face was emotionless and deprived of confidence. Pain, joyless pain echoed on the smiling monster as if it wore a face carved from a slain foe, skin still wanting to shed tears for its face.

It was the first time that Gilganeyk had ever seen a Daemons likeness presented beyond the profane temples of Chaos. There was danger in even the likeness of the creatures.

Yet, something in the depths of her soul told her that no servant of the Bane of the Aeldari would ever want that visage. It was a cruel joke, everything that they craved excised and made a jest.

The iron-toothed smile on the twisted mask could only ever belong to the creature beneath the mask.

The female Mon'keigh walked towards her with a casual ease, the crystalizing blood of Aeldari running the dreadful blade.

Soreness, confusion and discomfort kept Gilganeyk from rising to standing or even speaking.

She had been broken before the foe had even confronted her, and now she just starred at the creature with a dull expression.

It squatted before her, blade lazily resting over one shoulder and the other hand resting over a knee. The white eyes of the mask tilting along with the rest of the horned head as it inspected Gilganeyk.

Then it spoke with a shockingly mundane voice for one of it's species, lacking the horror that followed everything else about it. It spoke the tongue of her people in strange fashion, like an unlearned child attempting to mimic words that it had never heard to right syntax for.

"You See-Threads-Into-The-Horizon-of-Stars?" She asked with a strangely… friendly tone. As if they had merely crossed paths as travelers at some crossroads rather than surrounded by horror and death.

Gilganeyk struggled to understand what the words of the creature meant, it spoke in an archaic fashion which rendered understanding her an even stranger task.

She nodded, the last tatters of her dignity preventing her mouth from speaking with unworthy fear, confusion and exhaustion.

"Pleasant!" The Mon'keigh-thing barked in amusement. "Choice, desiring dead or desiring living?"

"What?" She asked numbly.

It tilted its horned head to its other shoulder and looked at her for another moment in what she imagined to be thought.

"Life you desire or death?" It tried again. "Offer both I do, come in life or come as dead-shell?"

Gilganeyk's eyes widened as she realized exactly what was being asked of her.

She was being offered life.

They were offering her life.

She would not degrade herself by accepting the offer of a lower lifeform for life when those which she had derided as cowards had so bravely given their lives.

She forced her expression into something more dignified than petrified horror, the implacable calm of Seer who had looked into the manifold threads of fate. She was one of the youngest Seers to ever walk the path, she was gifted and she was no coward.

So she opened her mouth to spit on the offer for mercy, to announce her defiance in the face of doom.

"Yes!" She nodded desperately. "Yes! Yes! I want to live!"

The words had been said with such a desperate zeal that it shattered her expression into an eagerness which would have been unworthy of a child a third her age. As the final exclamation left her lips her expression froze and morphed into horror as she realized what she had said.

"Good!" The not-Mon'Keigh laughed, the queer nuances to the modified voice giving it an echoing quality. It offered her an armored gauntlet expectantly.

Her hand struck out to accept the hand instinctively as the giants entered the room, the towering daemon-faced things with hulking black armor lined with dull silver.

The tallest among them was a giant among the giants, nearly a head taller than the rest of its kin. It bore a beaked expression somewhere between the features of an avian and a hound.

"So you found the one we sought, mother?" Its voice spoke Aeldari with an abominable mix of thundering tone and elegant tongue, like the words came from an Aeldari warrior shouting his words from the depths of a vast cavern.

"Yes," the 'mother' nodded its head as it pulled Gilganeyk to her feet as if she were to weigh nothing. "This one not-return-to-cycle."

"Life," The taller giant corrected idly. "You are using the wrong tense mother, 'return-to-cycle' uses the wrong tense. They would think that you are referring to their defunct resurrection-cycle. Try being more nasal as well."

The mother sheathed her blade at her side with her free hand while nodding.

"This one lives," it adopted the instruction instantaneously before turning to regard her. "You live."

Gilganeyk hated the relief she felt at the possibility of her own survival, she liked to think that her fatigue and the strange song that had replaced the pain had perhaps dulled her wits.

She did not resist as they took her staff and fastened hard shackles to her wrists, the clamps bit into soft skin and despite herself a slight whimper escaped her lips at the tightness.

"Apologies," The giant spoke up as he adjusted the shackles, loosening them after a moment.

She had not expected that.

Gilganeyk had also not expected to be picked up like a babe in the giant's arms while they marched from the room. Bodies were littered beyond, a mix of bronze and ebon warriors shackling survivors while others kneeled over corpses with daggers in hand.

She felt bile well up in her throat as she saw them work, daggers gingerly prying sparkling gems from cracked armor.

The soulstones gingerly plucked between armored fingers.


	64. Trial and Error XII

"Twenty?" I asked in confirmation as the Stormbird danced through the debris field, between masses of search parties and Mechanicum salvaging parties and boarding parties followed Dawn Knight dreadclaws and boarders into the Eldar wreckages.

"Twenty, father," Alten'lo nodded as his fingers danced across the modified interface of his gauntlet. Gauntleted fingers darting into ghostly holo-symbols.

"That is better than I expected," I smiled with grim satisfaction. "We paid dearly for this."

I felt poorly for taking my equerry from the task of organizing his men but all of my Round were engaged in the task of seeing to brothers, salvage and moving supplies around the fleet and only Alten'lo could so easily manage the needs of an entire Guild while accompanying me to the council with Horus and all the while compiling and seeing to dozens if not hundreds of lesser tasks.

It often struck me that the eldest of my Terran sons was not especially talented, there were more gifted individuals across the legions in matters of logistics, governing, strategy and war. What set Alten'lo apart aside from a noticeable balance in all of these fields was a gift for multi-tasking and devotion to his men that made him both omnipresent and personable to his brothers. Unfortunately, that also went a way to explain the fatigued bags under his eyes and the grey in his hair and beard.

"Not as dearly as we might have feared at least," He offered but I could tell that he himself did not find any comfort in this. "We have a further hundred prisoners in the central hold."

His inflection changed near the end of his report.

"You are uncertain?" I asked, surprised only that it had taken so long.

"I do not object to taking the strength of our foes," The Master of Gold explained without looking up from his work, grey eyes darting from one screen to another. "I am merely uncertain our chances at success."

"Understandable," I nodded. "Eldar are untrustworthy creatures, in their minds we are nothing more than animals which merely learned to work relatively simple tools."

Alten's lips squirmed in uncharacteristic disdain. "That is factually moronic, Father."

I chuckled at that.

"It is," I nodded. "It is a simple thing really, sapience can be measured in one of two fashions. Either a threshold of criteria is passed or a race must keep to a certain degree of advancement relative to oneself. Even those are imperfect."

"To say the least, Father," Alten'lo grimaced further. "It is revolting that they can see themselves as being as superior as you describe while being so pitiable in mind."

"The same can be said for many of your cousins," I smiled at him.

"Which I do not deny," Alten'lo smiled in quiet amusement. "In my own experience, the more above others one considers themselves the more base and banal they are in truth."

"But they are useful," I explained. "And they do have a singular positive trait in certain circles."

Alten'lo raised a brow.

"Some of them understand the threat of the Void and fight with ferocious hatred against It," I explained. "I intend to harness those who understand that threat and to private those who attempt to turn on humanity."

"So it is to them to not bite the offered hand?" Alten'lo asked as the Stormbird eased into its landing pattern.

"Precisely," I smiled as we made our way down the ramp of the ship, my customary guards of two parties of Gold Veterans marching behind me along with my Legates Imperator.

I sometimes found myself forgetting about the golden pieces of moving furniture, they had little enough interest in anyone beyond their own company. That was not necessarily an ill turn, they were privy to most of my secrets and generally did not stand in my way as per my father's instructions.

I had tried to befriend them but I ultimately gave up on that particular effort, ignoring them except for the few times in passing that one raised his voice to speak.

"You opt to not collect the enemy leader?" Fabius asked suddenly through our private Vox-link as we walked towards one of the lifts on the Vengeful Spirit.

"Curious?" I smiled under my helm.

"You seem to be in an answering mood, Lord Ailbe," There was a hint of humor there. "And it is our place to advise as we see fit."

"Because my brother is not yet familiar with the Eldar to any great degree," I answered through the link to the Custodians and my equerry. "He does not yet know to look for their witches when he could have someone with a larger hat."

Although to be fair there was a certain correlation between elaborate headdresses and rank in the galaxy, it was a safe assumption when dealing with the unknown.

"A diversionary tactic," Fabius surmised. "You are sacrificing the apparent leader to sate your brother's desire for glory while taking those who serve your purposes?"

"Yes," I confirmed. They did not speak a great deal but that did not mean that I did not want them to speak, Custodians were brilliant creatures when a subject caught their interest.

I had little doubt that Horus was putting considerable effort in wrapping his brace of guardians around his finger.

"Might I offer advice then?" Fabius tapped two fingers' ever so slightly on his spear as he walked.

I nodded, "By all means."

"If you bleed your captive, there will be no doubt as to your loathing for the breed," He advised. "A Primarch renowned for his loathing of Xenos will never be pressed for an irregular interest."

"My thought exactly," I acknowledged as we filed into position and one of the Knight-Seeker's tapped the control switched and punched in the desired level. "It is a shame that she will probably tell us nothing of use but these things happen."

I was rabidly curious as to what possessed Il-Kaithe, as they undoubtedly were, had been doing with their beastial behavior on Síobhras but I would leave that question for when I actually interviewed a prisoner.

…

I had never seen an Eldar in person before.

They were… not quite what I had envisioned, the female chained down to the floor before the throne of Horus managed to be both less and more human than I expected.

She was thin in proportions; her body was stretched in an inhuman fashion as I had expected. I would say that her limbs and torso were perhaps fifteen eighteenths the length of a human of equivalent size, just enough to be noticeable but not quite enough to be as freakish as some descriptions I had read.

Her figure was slim and narrow to such an extent that her secondary sexual characteristics were not readily obvious despite the form-fitting armor she wore under her tattered uniform vestments, Eldar body chemistry still too unfamiliar for me to distinguish her anatomical properties by scent.

The brow and chin were a touch too long, matching aristocratic features sharpened too much to look anything other than gaunt. The almond orbs of her eyes were proportionally too big for her head and her lips curled back over teeth pointed like little arrowheads.

I idly noted that her nose was actually rather endearing, with a slight upward tilt. It reminded me of the more childish depictions of a child when combined with her elfin ears. Although the being was clearly old from the minute traces of age lining her pallid skin.

My general consensus was that she was foreign but still within the realm of human attraction, which left me at something of a paradox given the accounts I had read from both mortals and Astartes in the world of my imprint. Humans tended to find Eldar ugly.

Granted she would likely be prettier if her expression was not contorted in quiet contempt. And trying to glare holes through my skull. It might also have been the metallic gag around her mouth.

It was a bit shameful to admit that I was not as interested in her appearance so much as the way her skin caught the light, her breathing thumped in my ears and the unknown scents and tastes my nostrils and tongue took from the air. I was rather anticipating going over the bodies that my sons had gathered from across the fleet. I had opted to ignore their taking of the armor and weapons from said bodies as long as the precious stones were delivered to me, a Seeker was a Seeker after all and I would never deny my sons their rightfully earned Treasures.

I would make a point of restoring them to a presentable state once I had learned all that I could, Eldar were formidable fighters but at a guess their bones were too brittle for the construction of festive hats. That was hardly behaviour conductive to my plans at any rate.

I idly observed her breathing as I stood next to where my brother sat, an act of deference and theatre which we had agreed upon earlier.

Behind the chained Eldar stood notables from both fleets: Mechanicum Adepts, Knightly Barons, Lord Generals, Astartes Captains, Ship-Masters and Iterators alike stood witness to our show of magnanimous civility. Most important of all were the various nobles and chiefs of the world below, starring dumbstruck at the fiend they feared broken and chained in supplication to their saviors.

We were flanked by our respective Legates Imperator, Terran banners aloft and our respective reliquaries.

The Eldar herself was flanked by two Astartes from both of the legions present, boltguns leveled towards the Xenos like the executioners they might well become.

Horus raised his hand to call for silence as we began.

"My brother has found another of those who have sought to prey on Humanity during the Long Night," Horus declared as if he were observing a beast of hell. "This wretched creature came upon this innocent world, this bastion of humanity and took from them their children. It and its kind have done this for years beyond recounting with no fear or concern. What is humanity, but a collection of weak rabble. I imagined that they thought this."

He pointed at the female in tatters with an armoured figure while pulling himself up from the throne in a dynamic motion, his voice raising, "And now look on it which thought itself better than Mankind! This is the Truth! Mankind will not suffer itself to be broken like some kicked mongrel by the likes of such foul creatures!"

There was a round of cheers around the hall as Horus laid a hand on my shoulder, "In proving this I must once more point to the wisdom of the Emperor! For he has given me many brothers to join in this endeavor! For it is my brother Galtine who has lived up to the name his people dubbed him! The Retaliator has claimed vengeance in blood for the suffering of our fellow man!"

"And I in turn offer the same thanks to my brother!" I put in my line as raised my own hand to clasp over the pauldron of my brother. "But duty yet remains!"

I exchanged nods with Horus before stepping down from his plinth and striding towards the Eldar admiral, matching her contemptuous eyes with my own disdain. That I actually loathed the would-be child stealer made the act more credible. I came to a stop a mere to meters from her, my greater height letting my tower over the chained Eldar like a monolith.

I glowered at her for a moment before speaking again.

"But vengeance is not yet ours! And safety is not yet Síobhras'! I have learned the ways of their cruel tongue in preparation of the day on which I would speak to these ancient cretins! Stand witness for we will take from this one the place of their forsaken refuge!" I concluded the speech by drawing Calyburne to the applause of the crowd and leveling it towards the Eldar.

From her wide eyes and stiffening form I assumed that she understood High Gothic.

Little matter.

"Remove her muzzle," I commanded. "It is time."

It was time for answers.

Even if the real ones would have to wait for a time.


	65. Trial and Error XIII (Gilganeyk PoV)

It could have been moments or cycles since the giants had locked her in her cell, there was no way to count time beyond her own heartbeat. Time was only marked when a meal appeared at her door every so often after a stretch when she had been certain that her captors had been hoping to starve her.

It was a disgusting gruel when compared to anything else to ever pass her lips, a grey slop that was too bitter and a heady consistency.

Yet she ate it gusto like some sort of animal when it had first come and every time since, using her hand in place of a utensil to shovel handfuls into her mouth. Hunger had a remarkable ability to better the taste of whatever one was offered.

It had become routine to empty the bowl and stack it in a corner of the room as a means to track the time. She had no notion of how long she had been there but thirty two feedings had come and passed since Gilganeyk had been put into the room.

The room itself was as large as it was brutally plain, hard right angles and artless steel walls around a space which could easily encase an Aeldari fighter with room to spare.

That made it worse by far, the space itself was maddening due to its sheer emptiness. The only features were a small bed too short for her frame and small room containing a crude waste-disposal system and a hand-cleansing device.

She sat against one of the corners of the room her arms wrapped around her shins like the child she now realized she still was. She needed the corner, it gave her a point of stability as she sat in soiled robes.

They had taken her staff, they had taken her wraithbone trinkets and they had taken her helm. They had been apologetic as she whimpered at the force with which they pried the items from her but they had not stopped until she was left in nothing but her ruined cloth.

They had taken her soulstone.

If she were to die now.

She shook her head at the thought.

It was cold in the room, her skin prickled at the metal beneath her and her eyes strained under the constant light.

The only thing she could do was to hum in time with the lullaby that still whispered in her mind.

The words were in some unknown version of the Mon'Keigh tongue but their meaning stroked her mind the way a mother might reassuringly brush the hair of her child.

It was nothing but the idle singing of some sort of bard plucking at a stringed instrument of some sort while singing of a tragic love, it had no particular meaning or relevance to it, it was nothing more than gentle music for its own sake. Gilganeyk found herself humming with the clumsy Mon'keigh tunes to distract herself from her fear and disgust with herself.

"You flee my dream come the morning," she sang quietly under her breath. "Your scent-berries tart, lilac sweet."

She had been the one to surrender, the others had died for her and she had spit on their sacrifice.

"To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy," She muttered along, she had never followed the Path of the Singer and her voice had always been rather unsuited to song. "Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep."

It really did not matter anymore, it gave her some comfort and that was all she desired at that moment.

"I know not if fate would have us live as-" She stopped as the one feature of the room, a door as hideously simplistic as the rest of it split open and a figure came through it.

"I do not understand why father likes that song so much," The giant chuckled to himself as he stepped through. It was the same giant as before, his voice was the same and the loss of the armor had done little to diminish from his massive scale.

He was more horrifying outside of his armor. The rough-hewn features of the Mon'keigh exaggerated to an even more monstrous scale, features too wide and muscles bunched in great mountains of flesh. His deformities were obvious past the heavy shirt and pants it wore, brown interwoven with patterns of black thread.

"It is a bit sour-like-the-fruit-of-a-dying-orchid," The little human walked in after him.

"Sad," The giant corrected. "Your emphasis is too formal, it sounds a touch dramatic even by the norms of this tongue."

"Is that unfolding-truth?" The 'mother' asked. "Sad then, thank you Caice-son-of-my-flesh."

Gilganeyk blinked at the being which was no more Mon'keigh than the giants which she called her offspring. Outside of her armor she wore a dull sheath of cloth which cut off we her ankles, revealed ends of her pants where they were absorbed into the tall boots she wore. An ornate belt of knotted leather and gold wrapped around her waist and an elaborate brand decorated the glove on her hand. Her skin was discolored to Gilganeyk's eyes, a patchwork of scars intermixed with sunworn hide.

The female walked until she was within a few steps from Gilganeyk and held out a pale grey bundle out towards her.

"Your scent is wretched," she smiled with the brutish ease of her baseline race. "Clean wrappings-of-flesh."

Emerald eyes looked at her with sympathy and what she refused to call pity.

But she could not stand the stench, she could at least die in clean attire.

With a cautious reach she took the bundle. The texture of it was rough against her skin and the weight of it was greater than she had expected.

It was also clean and unblemished.

The 'Mother' walked back and pointed at the door while looking to her 'son'. She did not understand how literal the term was, they differed in scale, build, skin tone, facial structure and in most other ways.

The giant chuckled and inclined into the rough bow of a Mon'keigh before leaving the room.

Gilganeyk paid them little mind as she stripped with as much dignity as she could manage past her haste. No sooner was she fully unclad that she was unbinding the bundle and swallowing her distaste at the unpleasant style of the garb.

She pulled the primitive notion of small clothes.

She realized that the thing was looking at her curiously.

"I had assumed you to be flesh-male," she scratched her cheek with laughing amusement. The ringing quality of the laugh with an edge of something missing in baseline 'humans'.

Gilganeyk felt her cheeks color in unseemly embarrassment as she rushed to pull on the pants and shirt while the thing waved.

"You will show-superior-mercy to my ignorance. I am unfamiliar with your race." It assured her.

She tried to pay it no mind as she tied a belt into place over her waist in imitation of the other being and pulled on the boots.

It was all too heavy, bulky and loose on her frame. Coarse on her skin and too short on her limbs.

Her captor eyes the stack of empty bowls in the corner of the room curiously.

"Nutrition tolerably-lesser?" It asked. "Three meals per cycle-of-lesser-star sufficient?"

It had meant to say 'day' she guessed.

Which was useless since Gilganeyk had little and less notion of what that meant, she knew nothing about the creature's solar cycle.

She slowly nodded her head. It tasted foul but it was edible and she feared that it would be taken from her if she voiced her objection.

All but begging to keep food ill-suited for a pet, she was quietly grateful that her teachers could not see her as she was.

"Pleasant," It smiled as it looked around the chamber. "Difficult to decipher-learn your nutrition from dead-flesh, concern over poison. Apologies."

It stopped speaking then, regarding her carefully.

Gilganeyk realized that it was waiting for her to speak.

She swallowed back her fear for long enough to effect dignity.

"What is to become of me?" She asked with as much composure as she had. Hungry, filthy and fearful as she was, there was little chance that she looked the part.

It quirked its head and frowned as it tried to make sense of her dialect.

"You selected life," It nodded brightly. "Word-tied so you live! As do others that made wise choice."

That stirred some distant hope in her, "Others live?"

"Yes," It nodded. "Many, some not by choice. Other Seers hard, Warmask too thick. Lesser-cells and chains until they suffer-learn. You enlighten and live."

Her eyes widened. There had been a few dozen Warlocks among their forces, that they still lived among others was a relief. She had not been alone, she had not been the only one to break among their proud number.

Then she realized what it implied. "Enlighten?"

The female's face straightened and her emerald eyes hardened and she tapped the golden collar she wore.

When she next spoke her words had gained an emotionless overlay which spoke her tongue without accent.

"I had hoped to speak with my own understanding of your tongue but I will resort to an intermediary to ensure that your understand. You have come to us with weapons bared and preyed on our kin," The good humor was entirely gone, something dark coming over the creature's expression. "We offer you mercy as if our right as the victors of this conflict. Mercy which is conditional."

As it stepped closer, Gilganeyk became more aware of exactly how much the creature out massed her, taller by a head and half-again wider.

"The souls of your people are our captives as our those who still cling to flesh," It continued. "It is not our wish to visit doom upon your people but we are unconvinced that it is not your intent to visit doom upon us. So I ask you a simple question, why have your kin stolen the children of this planet?"

She was vividly aware at that moment that her fate hung on the answer to that question.

The truth was likely not what the creature wanted to hear. Her masters had taught well how unwilling to sacrifice their ever-increasing multitudes the Mon'keigh were.

"They are needed," she explained carefully. She had never walked a Path suited for such a delicate half-truth.

The creature twitched the smallest finger on her right hand, a sign for her to continue.

"We war against a great enemy," she continued carefully. "And at times we are forced to engage in undesirable practices to best them."

That was not completely true, there had been alternatives when the ancient Aeldari had sealed it but Mon'keigh were seen as the most economical solution.

A thousand souls of young to feed the mechanisms of the Cradle of Iocaspar every quarter cycle of the prisons turn.

It regarded her with a look of distaste.

"You have been killing them?" She asked with a raised brow.

"The enemy must be stopped by any means necessary," Gilganeyk wished her voice sounded more confident. She was vividly aware that she was one strike away from an infinitely worse fate herself.

"An easy thing to say when one does not pay the price themselves," It smiled at her as it had its hand around her chin before Gilganeyk noticed the blur of motion. "It must be so simple, to offer the children of others to Chaos?"

It tilted its head, "We know you, child of Il-Kaithe. We also know what you call your foe."

She tried to move her jaw away but the fingers held her in place as if they were stone.

"A servant of our foe lays in rest," She explained with her composure rapidly degrading beneath the cold eyes of the not-human. "The mechanisms that keep it bound need blood of young to be kept in place, we only do as is need-"

Her words were cut out by a slight increase in pressure.

She was vividly aware that her own life hung in the balance of her words, her soul as well.

It starred at her for another moment before letting her go and turning to leave.

"You are correct. Sometimes actions must be taken as needed," I shrugged as it tapped its collar again and her voice returned to a more ordinary one. "Your leader-guide was ended-in-soul-and-flesh by the one I am bonded with. Needed to prevent questions, said she lied and head taken. You tired, I will leave now. Come another time yes? We speak more of this sealed thing and what is needed/required."

As it left it turned again and regarded the empty room.

"I have no hate-loathing for you, I know a frightened child when behold one I do," She shrugged. "Mercy-kindness is not required but still given."

With that she left.

That was the second time she met Morygen Ailbe.

She would not have believed then that they could ever be allies much less friends.


	66. Trial and Error XIV

"Well that is unfortunate," I commented as I eyed the test results.

Cobair looked from the body he was in the process of disassembling, "Father?"

"It would seem that the Eldar have a different tongue structure to what we had initially hypothesized," I grimaced. "It is entirely possible that the nutrient paste that we have been feeding them taste quite horrid."

I had come to a general conclusion with my sons as to the dietary needs of the Eldar as an initial priority and the admittedly plain-looking food that we had been feeding the captives had been derived from our estimations about their dietary needs.

At the time I had tailored the taste of off the logical assumptions one might surmise from those needs.

The others in the chamber began raising their heads from their work, a mortal might have had difficulty reading the expressions on their faces beneath their surgical masks and data-goggles.

I could read the various degrees of confusion and amusement very well before tapping the display and having the mock-up of the Eldar tongue enlarged onto the central holo-display. The nearly white structure disassembling and focusing in on the array of taste buds which lined it as I walked toward the central of the large center room of the Apothecarium Primaris while the Dian'Cecht exited from their various suites and labors to observe my findings.

I had no idea who had coined the name but 'Dian'Cecht' had come to be the accepted moniker for the Legion Medicae, I had found the reference amusing and let it stick. Along with the silver sun that they had taken to carving onto their white armor.

Belenus looked at the display in confusion as he stepped forward, "Their discriminatory tastes are far more ample than we had initially predicted."

The brunette Goriasen chewed his lip while his fellows nodded in agreement.

"From the layout, and concentration…" Corvises pulled up the previous reports for comparison. "It would taste beyond bitter to the Eldar palate, I would be surprised if they are not under the assumption that we are trying to poison them."

The Terran finished the theory with a dry laugh, "Not that that poisoning them would be a poor notion."

That earned a round of dry laughs from the other Dian'Cecht while I stifled a sigh, my relationship with my sons was a fairly unique one by the standards of most legions. My sons were loyal onto damnation to me but they were also faster to lose their unquestioning obedience than most. They would obey my commands without hesitation but they would be criticizing the choice every step of the way. The Dian'Cecht had developed this quality to its most pronounced degree, as they were in my company more so than nearly any other Astartes outside of the Round.

They were not particularly pleased about feeding Xenos to make mention of one example (Even if they had been surprisingly cooperative in my attempts to engineer certain tastes in human and astartes cuisine).

"We will have to increase the sweetness of the taste," I said as I pulled up the taste-associations which we had determined from the stomach contents of the subjects.

"It does raise questions regarding their biosphere," Another Dian'Cecht commented. "The Xenos' sensitivity to negative input and minimal need for sustenance suggests an abundance of toxic or incompatible food. "How they would have evolved in these circumstances is curious."

"Among a multitude of other questions regarding their biology," Corvises acknowledged. "Their biology raises a number of questions when compared to pre-existing subject baselines."

I frowned as I felt the sense of preparation wash over the room, they were about to descend into an argument which had consumed the Dian'Cecht in the two standard weeks since the Battle of Síobhras and our initial forays into Eldar physiology had begun.

My sons were steeply divided as to the question of how much of the alien bodies were the result of tampering as opposed to naturally developed. Almost every Dian'Cecht had a dissenting opinion from his fellows regarding the degree to which a particular aspect was tailored and how far back said alteration had taken place in the gene-line.

I had felt a tinge of pride that they had immediately dismissed the question as to whether they were a naturally evolved species while hiding my own amusement as I waited far beyond them. It was important that they work out the details among themselves or they would never reach my own level of understanding.

By my own estimation, the Old Ones had taken a frankly freakish species and merely stripped whatever pretense at genuine evolution it had claim to. Eldar seemed by nature to be psychically potent, the signs were too deeply entrenched to be artificial, not due to a lack of ability by some ancient species so much as it would have been pointless to not just create a new species wholesale by that point. They were seemingly built around their psychic aspect, their brain chemistry and anatomy only made me more certain of that. The Old Ones had merely shaved off the 'blemishes' of nature, refined their desired characteristics and stripped them of an appreciable ability to change from what they wanted.

Simply put, Eldar physiology was littered with absences that one would find in a natural species. Vestigial organs, genetic left-overs, inefficiencies and even irregular variance were all missing. The Eldar were as much robbed of their ability to evolve as they were perfected towards the obvious end goal, that of specialized Psykers.

It personally left a bad taste in my mouth to see what the Old Ones had done to the Eldar species. On a technical level it was brilliant, and I would gladly marvel at the ingenious quality of the work and how thoroughly entrenched it was. The sheer cruelty of stripping a species of its ability to grow and change beyond what you wanted it to be was simply stunning.

Psychic dependence, lowered reproductive rate, a propensity towards what a human would call Borderline Personality Disorder, a metabolism designed around minimal food intake to maximize operative time.

I vaguely made wanted to clone an Old One so that I could kick it in whatever was analogous to its reproductive organs and then feed its soul to a Devourer.

Speaking of bad taste.

I raised a hand to interrupted the debate which was about to begin.

"For the time being," I said with mirth in my expression. "I suggest that we look into keeping our prisoners from seeking death as an alternative to our meals."

They would return to their debate at another time at any rate.

…

I walked into my apartments after putting the nominal modifications to the prisoner food-supply into production.

My apartments were deep in the heart of the Avalon and arguably had the internal space which would put the castles of ancient Terra to shame with dozens of galleries, halls, chambers and grand stairs surrounding the chambers I shared with Morrigan like a web around a spider.

When chances of combat were slim I did not bother to wear full plate in the Avalon, I walked in what was the rough equivalent to a uniform in my Legion. A thigh-length tunic and pants held in place by a heavy knotwork belt with a good pair of boots heavily overlapped with the various patterns and styles of Calengwag symbolism.

Granted the belts of most high ranking Astartes had inbuilt refractor fields while all others kept a bolt pistol and a blade at their hips and an armored body glove under their robes. I was no exception in this regard, the simple truth of it was that while wearing armor constantly was somewhat tiresome, most Seekers and Astartes were simply uncomfortable without a weapon at their sides.

The only things that set me apart were my scale, the quality of my garb and the heavy gem-embedded pendent which marked my status along with two eccentricities. These were the set of glasses which I wore over my eyes and the canister which I hung from my belt. The first served along with the implant in my ear to keep me connected to the aspects of Merlin while the second contained a colony of medical nanites in case of an emergency.

I moved past the excessive number of apartments towards one of the smallest dining chambers where Morygen awaited me.

She was idly nibbling at a skewed set of organs from some sort of reptilian creature, likely the delicacy she mentioned that our agents had acquired from the surface of the planet.

The former Seeker gave me an attempt at a sultry smile as the hatched sealed behind me, an attempt which would have been more convincing if her cheeks were not stuffed with meat so as to resemble a chipmunk.

"Thank you for waiting," I rolled my eyes as I slid into the chair across from her and eyed the mountain of skewers on my plate before picking one up and taking an experimental bite. It was not unpleasant.

It was the smallest of our feasting halls, more of a small dining room in practice. The room was a thing of marvel and slate and statuary but the small table we sat at could sparsely seat a dozen Astartes, which made it as small as we could have without sending the wrong message.

"You were taking too long," She snorted before plucking another organ into her mouth and swallowing it after a few bites. "Food wait's for no man!"

"I am no man," I responded with a touch of melodrama. "We were a bit delayed, you were right about the paste."

She gave me a smug look, "I told you, the poor girl looked like the Void was upon her when she received her meal during our last little talk."

"Hopefully the alterations make it less deathly," I smiled. In the weeks since the battle, Morygen had taken a great deal of interest in the prisoners in the heart of the ship.

Morygen had taken to interviewing the prisoners herself even if the Dian'Cecht monitored them in rotating shifts, a relatively harmless face compared to the giants. They had already proven their worth already just by providing us with their purpose.

The fact of the matter was that it left us with something of a conundrum.

I had executed the Eldar after she had provided us with nominal information, for better or worse Horus had some passing knowledge of the language. I dismissed her claims of necessary sacrifice as bluster before the court and revealed our salvaging of their navigational data to confirm that they had used some sort of Xenos alternative to warp travel based on a previously unknown ruin on the surface to Horus in private. I downplayed my knowledge of the subject to the best of my ability, I knew that he would come to some periphery knowledge of it eventually so I saw no harm to it.

The result had been fairly positive, my reputation had improved even if the wretched nickname from Calengwag was catching on faster than I would have liked. But I could tolerate it as my xenophobia was now well-known (which I had never thought to 'aspire' to). Horus had been pleased by my insight and as near as I could tell did not suspect a thing.

That did not solve my problem.

I could not let the Cradle be left unseen to but the prisoners were largely uncooperative and the Seer did not know the way to the prison beyond Webway transit.

"So we have a powerful Voidspawn somewhere in the galaxy with a prison that will unbind itself sooner rather than later and we have no idea where it is," I sighed with irritation.

"It's not that bad," Morygen waved me off. "The solution's pretty simple."

"Torture?" I raised a brow.

She gave me a dry look, "We caught their Seer, didn't we? The Authority scares them and they don't know what it is. They are bound to come looking for what happened to their fleet."

I snorted, "Fair enough."

"Not much to do then but crusade," She smiled.


	67. Flaw I (Gareth PoV)

War was not something to be enjoyed.

That was a maxim professed by many a wise man through history, that it was a dreadful thing that man should only resort to when there was no recourse.

Despite its name the Great Crusade was not as violent a thing as its name might have suggested.

For every polity that was subjugated through violence, eight were brought in through diplomacy and recognition of Terra's right. It was not an offer without appeal, protection and technology ion exchange for the potential of being tithed in willing men and women to perpetuate the crusade once the planet could withstand it. It was the human condition to be more willing to offer their neighbours flesh than to pay infrastructure taxes.

This was perhaps where the infamy of the Second Legion began.

It began when one of the ships of the eighteenth reinforcement fleet brought with it a shard of Hollow-Technology which the Legion dubbed 'Lesser Silver' in the way that outsiders had heard legionaries call their ships 'Lesser Onyx'. Military, navy and civilians that belonged to the original segment of the Fourth Expeditionary Fleet began to whisper of a protracted argument between the Primarchs a manner of weeks before a comprehensive administrative scheme was imposed on Four Twenty.

The Second Legion acted alone in quelling the following rebellion.

This continued with each world that fell over four years of Crusade, The Sixteenth and the Second would break their foes, Lord Horus would charm the people and Lord Galtine their ire when he imposed tax systems and administrative reform to their near universal dissatisfaction. It was said that the Second was more concerned with bleeding good, honest people of their work than in the greater project of the Crusade.

So, the Second Legion developed a reputation as stark and divisive as any known in the Crusade.

On worlds that they liberated with steel and fire, they were spoken of in only the most beloved of terms. People spoke of noble giants who walked through the fields of the dead and dying, mourning mortal and brother alike and their mirror-eyed lord who led his court of healers through places of plague and suffering. Of the miracles of healing and prosperity that came behind them like the cloaks of some benevolent spirits.

Worlds brought into compliance with words of brotherhood and gifts spoke of the greedy fiends who fed from the victories of their Luna Wolf brethren and the craven Galtine who abused beloved Horus to take from the people.

The latter view sunk its talons deep into the Fourth Expeditionary Fleet. While it was natural for travel between ships to be irregular, it was no unheard of. Yet the Eighty Second fleet kept their ships carefully segregated, those few who had for some reason or another found themselves of the enigmatic vessels found many things out of sorts, all professed themselves as servants of the Second and spoke of the Astartes as clan guardians who oversaw their daily lives. The men who fought alongside the heavily armored 'Seekers' spoke of men and women who spoke to their Astartes with an almost casual ease and showed a certain joy for battle which many troopers found disrespectful. It melded well to accept the discontent of the people on peaceful worlds than to hear the massed gratitude of the poor wretches on worlds saved by sword and gun.

It mattered little to the Astartes one way or the other, the Dawn Knight admired the ferocity of the Luna Wolf and the Luna Wolf admired the bonds of the Dawn Knight. The Second learned from the decapitating strikes of the Sixteenth while the Sixteenth was touched by the depths of loyalty that every facet of the Second reinforced through oath, ritual and brotherhood.

So when the time came for the last campaign of their time together, the Fourth Fleet was of two minds on the event. The mortal men and women felt relief that they would soon free themselves from the strange, secretive and greedy strangers of Hollow while the Legionaries of Lupercal mourned that they would soon be parted from their brothers.

Four Thirty-Two was the crowning battle of a campaign that had lasted a half year according to the Terran calendar. A war against a race as Xenos as it was arrogant in their self-professed superiority over man.

The combined fleet laid waste to their void defenses. Platforms of elegant copper and light and gem were broken by the might of those whom the had thought barbaric and fit only for the whip. Weapons of make older than their entire foul history shattered their wide vessels like a hail against glass.

The Xenos called themselves 'The Most Sublime Inheritors of the Light' in the local dialect of Gothic, presenting themselves as the demigods whose possessed the divine right to rule over man. They were worshipped by the human populations of the sixty worlds which they had enslaved since the beginning of the Long Night.

Imperials simply called them Glass-hawks, for their form and for their love of gems and glassworking which resulted in both beautiful and profoundly alien technology which they had long since convinced the men of their worlds to be sorcery.

They fought well, beams of directed energy scarred Imperial ships and broke lesser vessels while using their maneuverability to maintain an offensive where a defense would have been doomed.

It availed them little but it presented with the Fleet with a worthy battle to commemorate their taking of the space above the last of the thirty world of the alien polity.

It might have been preferable to simply bomb the planet but the occasion and the human slaves which still numbered in their billions made the need for deployment obvious.

Thousands of pods rained onto the regional capitals on the planet below, towards the temple cities 'of sublime enlightenment' that the Glass-hawks so prized.

The final campaign of the Glass Xenocides had begun.

…

"Matius," Gareth began as the pod's tremors grew more violent. "Eldar's guile."

"You will be avenged before the final dawn," The rest of the Party answered over the vox.

"Fidoc," Chastifel added from across the pod. "Ogre's might."

"You will be avenged before the final dawn," The party repeated.

"Aedule," Finn sighed. "Ork's brutality."

"You will be avenged before the final dawn," The party chanted.

"And we will bring that Dawn," Knight-Leader Eredin finished as the pod's shaking grew more violent.

He could remember their deaths.

He could remember Matius turning a corner only to be torn apart by a volley of murderous stars.

Fidoc, protecting his brothers from the rending claws of the mechanical servants of Four Nineteen.

And Aedule, pushing him from the wicked tools of a monstrous greenskin.

Three of their party had fallen in the last four Terran years like they all would eventually.

He could see them still, their faces staring at him from the seats where their new brothers promised vengeance for them.

As the pod's violent descent reached its climax they all raised their voices in a roar.

"We bring the Dawn!"

The words were said among every party in the legion when they were about to walk onto a new battlefield. To remember their fallen brothers, to pass on their names to those who might live another day to avenge them should they fall.

The pod hit into the stone of the enemy citadel like meteor, landing thrusters flaring just enough to prevent injury.

There was no time for delay as the burst from the pod, running over top the ramp even as they fell.

Their tactical readouts fed them the enemy's nature and location even while the foe came into sight. Ten bolters barked as a thermoreactive bolts flew from them, exploding with violent force as the impacted onto the armor of the foolish xenos before them.

They had fought Glass-Hawks on more than enough worlds to understand how to slay the monstrous creatures.

Their armor of banded crystal and light was magnificently able to absorb the power of plasma and las weaponry but they were woefully inadequate against bolt and mono-molecular blade.

Long beaks croaked out in horror and pain as they were slain, the sound drowned out beneath volley after volley of bolt fire.

The fire and shock bought them the time needed to close the distance between them and their prey.

As his bolter barked once more Gareth let go of it with one hand, allowing the force of the launch to carry the butt of his weapon into the skull of alien attempting to flank him. The triangular helmet of crystal filled the space in a spasm of color, dissipating light and broken circuitry catching against the light of glass fragments.

As the strike connected with the avian skull he let go of the grip and unlocked his sword from his side.

Four neat strikes and the remaining eight aliens were dead. Their long limbs and torsos broke easily under his strikes before they could unsheathe their fanged energy-clubs. Gareth took pride in learning from his foes and he had long-since come to understand that the Glass-hawks were aggressive creatures for all of their claims of wisdom, they always flinched towards their enemy which made the quite easy to cut down.

His brothers had finished their work in the span of heartbeats after the last of the bodies struck the ground with the clink and squelch of their crystal armor and chitinous flesh.

"Clear," The Knight-Leader commented while the Party mentally dialed down the noise of drop pods and battle which surrounded them. "Recover weapons and prepare to move to the next objective."

Gareth had already maglocked his sword and pistol back to his hips and was in the process of picking up his bolter by the time that the order was complete.

He sighed at the clear blue blood staining the weapon, he could already tell that the gelatinous blood would be difficult to cleanse from his trusted gun.

"They stain something awful," Cale muttered, echoing Gareth's thought. The younger Astartes seemed more concerned with the state of his weapon than his first battle in service to the Legion.

"It is to be expected," Chastifel barked a laugh. "It is the closest thing to harm they managed."

"A touch disrespectful," Gareth commented dryly.

"How?" the other knight quirked his head. "I hope that my blood never washes out from my killer's blade. I will forever vex my foe!"

"Well you are vexing enough already," Finn snorted. "Although I prefer you alive for what it's worth."

"Of course I am," he laughed at the other Astartes half-hearted jab.

"Yes, yes," The Knight-Leader cut in. "You are all charming, move to the next objective."

"Understood," The Party answered as one before falling into silence and forming up around Eredin as they advanced from their crash site.

The fortress was beautiful in its own way Gareth supposed, a sacred city of violet stone and amber crystal under a lilac sky. The streets were too narrow and uneven just as the Xeno form was unsightly and inhuman but there was also a grace and refinement to it which he could appreciate.

He hoped to salvage some of it.

There would probably be time, the Temple City dominated a quarter of the planet's prime continent and it would take them days to take the city.

They walked through the too-tight corridors in pairs.

Which was unfortunate as it allowed Cale a chance to press his suit.

"Your clan-leader is being unreasonable," He said suddenly over the vox as they scanned the tall roofs of the city while climbing a stairwell.

"He is being perfectly reasonable," Gareth sighed. "He has only one personal granddaughter."

He understood why the young Astartes was pressing the case so hard, it was the first dispute since he had assumed Aedule's place.

"And my clan offers a good groom," The younger Astartes pressed before the frequency was filled with mutters of annoyance.

"Bride prices later," The Knight-Leader sighed over the vox.

His dreary tone was met with quiet chuckles from the rest of the squad.

"After we purge this world," Gareth assured Aedule with a smile in his tone. "Let us get through this first."

The thirteen of them continued on.

His brothers around him and the dead at the corners of his eyes.


	68. Flaw II

They were called Lightbringers by the mortal slaves of the Awk'kravhok, the chosen warriors of their Bright Lord. Towering xenos of the alien breed enhanced through ritual surgery into something more, their bones were made stronger than steel, their muscles resistant to mortal weapons and a host of auxiliary organs aiding them in outstripping the scale of their 'demigod' brothers. They were garbed in ceramite, gems stronger than adamant and the manipulated hard-light of their people and armed with great weapons that howled with lightning or halberds of hardened plasma.

I could appreciate the irony as I fended off a dozen of the prized warriors amid the melee, the unknowing parody of an Astartes being a cut above their lesser warriors or the human slave soldiers that made up the bulk of their forces.

Around me the melee was a strong of bolt, las and plasma erupting in death and horror as the only interruption between the clash of powered weapon and light-halberd and the sizzling sound that resulted from their impacts.

They kept coming regardless of how many I cut down, correctly identifying me as a greater threat than my sons as they dueled against their equals.

Regrettably, they lacked a Primarch equivalent.

They tried numbers to their credit, nine rushing over the shattered forms of their fellows with their weapons held high, I idly noted from their stockier frames and elaborate plate that they probably represented an elite.

Numbers were sadly a poor strategy against me.

I parried and evaded their blades of energy easily, Gold forming phantom blades to contribute to the defense as was his habit and Sapphire mending what few cuts managed to strike my plate. A more impatient man might have pushed the assault but I had found an odd sort of joy over years in fighting those who could at least vaguely match me with only an advantage of nine to one.

I was not fighting alone however and I had little patience for cruelty, so I ended them when the opportunity presented itself.

The hemispherical onslaught of blades raining down on me did not give them much of a chance to do anything more than to match me. When one of the flanking warriors attempted to level a strike against me, overcommitting in what might have been an ill-thought grab at glory, it gave me an opportunity.

I shifted to a one-handed stance the exact moment that the blade reached for me, moving just enough that the blade passed under my arm and my spare wrist caught the shaft in my crushing grip.

So the overeager warrior momentarily joined my service, as a flail.

Gold pushed them back for a heartbeat as I lifted the spear and the attached Lightbringer before he could react to drop his weapon and I brought it down onto his shocked fellows. It was disturbing to ragdoll an armored warrior the height of an astartes but the force of my blow struck his brothers with a satisfying crack and crunch.

The mass of his body's impact broke sent three of them tumbling but it distracted the others enough for me to twirl the xeno halberd in my hand spare hand and to through it like a javelin into the chest of one of the warriors while I charged. I caught the hand of the first to try and recover and brought my now free hand into its armored throat with and catching its jaw from the force of the blow and bending its armored head into an unnatural angle while its spine was pulverized.

With a smooth, workman motion I continued the action by driving Calyburne into the throat of another Lightbringer before twisting and cleaving through its gorget and into the now very surprised warrior that had tried to exploit what it took for an opening. Its squawk of surprise as its arm fell cut off as I coiled in my blade and lunged into its throat within heartbeats.

I finished the last one as I saw Stalwart Gold drive four nanite-forged daggers into the fallen warriors, breaking through eye-lenses in sudden but merciful violence.

As I kept up my work I came to an amusing realization.

I had somehow never noticed that I was rather partial to going for the foes neck when the opportunity presented itself.

"I always go for the throat," I idly noted to my mild surprise.

"You just noticed this?" Stalwart Gold chuckled over my helmet vox.

As I decapitated to lesser Lightbringers in a fell swoop when they attempted to cut outflank one of my sons I chuckled at the realization. I was thankful that the only sound in my vox was the Oathsong because it would be unbecoming to laugh and ruin the moment.

"I had never noticed it," I mused as I caught another charging foe by the neck and twisted.

"Roughly seventy four percent of your confirmed kills according to my records," Sapphire commented, momentarily contributing while dedicating herself to managing her swarms and coordinating the efforts of my white-plated sons behind me as they aided their bronze-armored brothers.

"Huh," I clicked my tongue while punching another Lightbringer in the gut with fatal force to break the monotony.

That immediately got me frowning.

I forced my amusement aside for later consideration, it was disrespectful to my opponents to make their desperate defense a game. I would kill them and I would commemorate their bravery, they were not a game regardless of how deserving they were of their doom.

Cruelty was not something that I wanted to bring into myself.

I refocused myself on the scene beyond my own efforts.

We had landed on at the heart of the High Cathedral of the Awk'kravhok (or Glass-hawks as the Low Gothic jargon called them), the Speartip of our decapitating strike against the Xenos consisting of fifty white and bronze stormbirds weaving between the rain of steel pods.

We had broken the gates in brutal battle, and had done so again and again as we worked our way through the dozen layered courtyards of the central church district, each a fortress worthy of saga in and of itself. Until we had penetrated into the vast fields and cathedrals of the final ring around the core temple, perhaps that was why had begun sending larger Lightbringers such as those nine unfortunates.

"Brother!" Horus roared with laughter over the vox. "You are doing well!"

I had very deliberately avoided looking at my brother despite my joy in taking to this final battle at his side.

Namely because it would not do to gape like an idiot.

Horus was a force of his own in battle only a dozen or meters away from me.

He positively glowed in battle as he strode at the head of black armored guards.

He did not duck or evade, he parried with his golden blade and roared with his bolter. Every move and every breath showed remarkable dominance, less like a warrior in battle and more like a king indulging the delusions of some poor fool. He wore a confident and almost amused smile on his unhelmeted face, the shield generator humming around his head barely revealing itself as he merely took the opportunities of those that went for the obvious kill to cut them down or shoot them.

To put it neatly, my brother did not fight so much as he executed the fools that dared stand in his way while immortalizing them in their moments of downfall in the memories of the witnesses.

"And you enjoy this entirely too much!" I laughed back.

I considered myself a decent enough sword for a Primarch but I earnestly believed that Horus was the more sublime fighter between to the two of us. Horus made war in a perfect marriage of art and skill while I squeezed everything I could of my efficient and simple style to make a good showing of myself.

My sons fought in a much more admirable style, personal glory sacrificed to the victory of the party, raid, oath, sect and legion in the tradition of the Seekers. The blow of a foe dragged into the threshing shield-shell which was the blades of surrounding son, where on parried another would strike.

The Luna Wolves fought alongside them with the controlled ferocity which characterized their legion, wroth and skill balanced in their strikes and charges against the creatures which matched their scale.

The one exception to this segregation amused me the most, two figures which stood between me and my brother, carving through the Lightbringers as if they were mere chaff.

Ezekyle Abaddon and Trystane Chulainn had become a perfectly matched duo over the course of a number of battles and in their final act together showed a revelry and violence that could almost make me pity the Xenos.

Abaddon was fearsome advance, moving forward in his black armor with a relentless pace as he drew the blades of every warrior before him, goading them and weathering their assault as if they were nothing. When an opportunity presented itself he would lash out with his own blade which cut through the avian beasts.

Yet even the First Captain would be felled alone, every time a stray halberd hummed towards the giant Astartes it would stop. Either as hand were severed, white blades erupted from the torso of the attackers or they would fall as their feet were cut down before them as the Master of the Ruby danced around his sworn brother. When he stood still long enough for the enemy to strike him the blade and armor of the Luna Wolf would divert the strike before it could land on the laughing knight.

Five years of war together had resulted in a deep bond between the two Astartes, Abaddon knew that no foe would flank him while the ruby shadow dwelled at his periphery and Trystane feared no blade in the wake of the black mountain of ceramite. Horus had spoken his approval of the friendship between our lieutenants on countless occasions, of his wish that it represent the bonds between our legions.

I did not have it in me to tell any of them how thoroughly I disapproved of the friendship, that was a secret that only Morygen knew. Because I feared that one day Trystane might have to kill the new brother he had found.

I put the grim thought from my mind and refocused myself on the battle ahead as we neared the gates of the great gem-pyramid at the heart of the enemy faith. A massive construct four, kilometers from base to pinnacle which had weathered the onslaught of orbital fire which had reduced the courtyards the blasted ruin and shattered cathedrals.

The enemy fought harder with every step.

My movements picked up speed as my sons were felled by halberd, shattered by great blasts of light or impaled by lances of light shot from the hands of great constructs as they lumbered forward. I felt anger flood my body as I bared my teeth beneath my helmet.

The anger of kin-death broke the anger our in my own sons as well as our movement began to overtake our brother legion in places, rage driving the blade-shells forward like a great scythe cutting into the flesh of those who had killed their brothers.

The Oathsong thrummed in our ears as we drove ourselves forward.

By the time we felled the final of the exterior guards we stood before the gates of the enemy's heart.

Luna Wolves were already whooping and taking trophies from their foes while my sons did much the same while others set to work on the gates.

"One final push brother?" Horus said with the glow of battle still lightening his features.

"Of course," I nodded after forcing back the anger which was clawing at the back of my mind and taking off my helm to smile. "One last push and we part ways."

Horus sighed, "Don't be so grim Galtine!" He thumped a fist on my shoulder in a show of affection. "Come, let us do this!"

I laughed despite myself as our troops mustered themselves before the gates.

It was time to kill a people's god.


	69. Flaw III

"Something is wrong," I sighed as we walked down the avenue within the enemy structure, the only sound was the thud of Astartes treading over the crystal which made up the entirety of the structure. One thousand Astartes following the entry point into the Cathedral.

Everything felt wrong within the structure, the wide space of the hall was utterly unfurnished with nothing but the long path following forward until it was seemingly lost from view. The only thing that gave some feeling of progress was the formations along the walls and the floors.

But even that was not quite accurate, it was as if the decorated were creatures and vessels caught in ice just far enough to have their forms hidden from full definition even to my own sight.

"It is unlike you to state the obvious brother," Horus commented dryly as his eyes scanned the walls. "Do you feel the shift?"

"Yes," I nodded while looking forward beyond the advancing formations of Breachers walking thirty across into the endless halls. It was not as straight as it seemed, increment by increment we were turning downward with some distant machinery gradually altering gravity to prevent us from falling downward.

At least I hoped that it was gravity.

"Warp distortions are present," Sapphire commented quietly into my helm. "Gravity distortions are also present but they do not seem to be Void-tainted."

"The ambush is likely to come from the flanks," Gold did not bother to point out the obvious. "Indirect tools are favored by the Peacock."

That was probable.

No, that was nearly guaranteed.

Had I been a mortal man, I might have well started getting shaky at that point.

Instead I advanced while opening up a private vox-channel, "Trystane."

"The ambush, Father?" The Guildmaster responded quickly, an edge to his cheer that made it painfully clear that he saw the same thing. "I have already begun to issue commands to the flanks."

"Beware the work of the Peacock," The words might have been brusque if the effort to modulate my voice could have been spared. "Void-Taint present and it is abundantly clear whose work this is."

"Lovely," My eldest son muttered. "Eclipse-Contingency?"

"Yes."

Eclipse-Contingency, an edgy name for what was essentially 'prepare to lie your ass off and oh look! Weird mutations and shit and that rascally Immaterium is up to non-sapient mischief!'. There had been some debate as to whether we should literally call it that, but it was ultimately decided to give way too much away.

"Something wrong brother?" Horus asked at what he perceived to be a harmless private message.

"Just sending orders to prepare for an ambush," I forced some tension into my voice to highlight my concern. "If those walls do not explode by the end of this, I will eat a rhino."

"The transport or the extinct Terran ungulates?" Horus asked with a smirk, a thin and hard smile that showed his agreement. "I have already issued similar orders."

"What a surprise," I snorted.

Regardless of legion and training, watch a formation of Astartes alternate was a marvelous thing. Every brother slowed their pace but did so with a personally-adjusted speed to open and close spaces between them without seeming to stop or even slowdown from a mortal perspective I imagined.

The Breachers still bulked towards the front but squads slowly moved to spread out around the column, their bodies turned towards the nearest walls and their gauntlets tensing as if prepared to move in the direction of the nearest threat.

Behind them, blade and bolter began to be leveled warily at the frozen images in the wall.

Not long after that, we started to face resistance.

Rank after rank of Lightbringers running in tight-knit formations from the depths of the endless corridor.

No sooner had they appeared than a hail of mass-reactive shells impacted against the lines as soon as they were within range.

I took something vaguely resembling satisfaction in the bolts catching the slower and most zealous of their number, eruptions of shrapnel and fire roaring into life as they impacted the Awk'kravhok super-soldiers and blackening or shattering their regal armor.

Unfortunately, the hail of was not left unanswered as they fire their own disciplined volleys of harnessed light into our ranks while we charged at each other.

The preferences of both legion's aside, the simple fact of the matter was that ranged combat would get us nowhere without heavy ordnance.

Both sides were augmented beyond natural limits and did not die so easily, Mastercrafted flesh sheathed in armor better fit for heavy artillery.

The ranks of Lightbringers continued running towards us even as their numbers were thinned by the heavy ordnance of support teams raining heavy bolter fire and we did little less even as eruptions of noonday light pierced our kin.

Horus and his guard were already moving towards the frontline unsurprisingly, golden blade in hand and a roar on his lips.

That was a… regrettable flaw of Horus. I had strangely enough developed something akin to love for my brother, it was hard not to, but he loved being at the center too much.

"I remind you of the trap, brother," I muttered as I moved towards the front at a more careful pace.

"Then let us spring it," Horus answered back simply. "I strike and you counter brother, why break a good habit?"

I snorted in place of a sigh.

He had a point, it was neither the first nor the last time that Horus would rush a trap to rip out an enemy's throat.

The problem was that normally there were no concern about the enemy.

"Void-Taint increasing," Sapphire noted.

"Eclipse, assert flanks. Knight-Raids Trystane and Galeth towards the front," I ordered calmly as I strode towards the front. "Remaining Raids hold position. Blade-Shells. Shield & Spear."

The size of the corridor did not leave the legions the choice of fighting as separate entities to the degree both typically preferred so we had figured out a happy medium over the years. Which was to say that the Sixteenth would send its assault elements forward with some backing while their ranged elements remained safely ensconced within the angry hedgehog which was a Dawn Knight formation.

No sooner had I given the orders than said Speartip had crashed into the enemy lines with the tidal wave of violence that typically followed. Mono-filament blade shattering reinforced crystal & ceramite while Light-Halberd bit into reinforced plate, along with fist and claw and the screams of bolt and light drowning out the roars of xenos and men.

The fact that neither side was composed of untrained simpletons that did not understand what tactics were made things all the bloodier as it became a contest of who could better isolate and overwhelm the other.

It was just as what had happened throughout the entire campaign.

Which was exactly why I was wary about it.

And I was not the only one.

"Something is wrong," I growled as I dived into their lines again, phantom blades and white-steel shining as I reinforced my sons' line, quickly become the tip of the wedge.

I felt it sooner than Horus could say it.

"They are fighting better!" Horus laughed as he rammed into a towering Lightbringer with his shoulder and drove his blade through its gut.

He was not wrong, the Lightbringers within the temple were an entire cut above their predecessors, their halberds were cleaving through Astartes sometimes from helmet to groin in a single stroke while others abandoned their weapons to cut through plate with their beaks and claws which had gone from aristocratic to long, segmented and beastial things.

That was an issue, it was not the problem however.

The problem was the streaks of all to familiar grey tinging their armor and flesh.

"Indeed," I returned, grateful for my helmet keeping the tension in my expression from showing as I fought off the monsters. "We should have brought more heavy artillery!"

"A touch late for that!" My brother laughed, seeming to revel at the strain in his voice as he pushed aside the mass of a great raptor which had leapt from the obscenely spacious halls.

I had predicted that the xenos had some corruption early on, the presence of obvious use of a few psykers on their other worlds along with their obsession with crystals and fate. I had not expected it to have progressed so far as to create the obvious tainted creatures we were currently fighting.

"I dare not wonder what depravities these monsters have inflicted upon their own flesh," Ezekyle hissed as he parried a blow before turning the blade and driving the pommel into the engorging neck of one of the mutants, exploding it prismatic pus. It did not stop the creature but the decapitating strike the came before it could recover accomplished the job.

"Less thinking, more killing!" Trystane interrupted him as he moved behind the captain and slid his slim Moraltach into the ribs of a creature who had literally burst from its breastplate before turning the strike upwards and opening it up completely. "They still die if you gut them, that is what matters!"

Around them advanced their bronze and white wedge.

"Flanking," One of the Luna Wolves on the flanks of our force shouted as the hall walls shattered into a rain of pseudo-gem raining over the Dawn Knight flanks towards the unprepared Luna Wolves. The sound was the shriek of breaking glass over the roars of battle, soon punctuated by the war-screams of what came in after them. I caught feathers and beaks reflected in the gems as massive winged shadows darted through the shrapnel even as the long shards were puncturing through powered armor before the mutant creatures impacted with the harsh thuds of Astartes being utterly crushed by the weight of the great creatures.

Their strength was not the only thing improving.

As the impact settled I saw them properly, great hunchbacked creatures that seemed to take what a Lightbringer was to an even more grotesques proportion. But that impression only lasted for a moment before their flesh started twisting at an incredibly fast pace.

Limbs of pallid red and deep blue blood ripped from their chests as the crystals ripped free of their armor like some organic growth. These limbs stretched outward and bulked as they devoured the bolts and fire into their mass as bones and steel erupted and reshaped them to the point of resembling great gryphons of twisted crystal and viscera.

I wasted no time disengaging from the retreating Lightbringers while the Spear hastily tried to reverse their momentum to fight the monstrous gryphons that had begun ripping throw men as if they were nothing more than fodder.

No, even 'beast' was inaccurate. Whatever form they tried to mold into the beasts were mutating and reconfiguring too quickly to give their shape such a regal comparison. They were more like coursing masses of meaty vines and crystal filament flowing over bursts of light topped with long, distended necks. Beaks split open light blooming flowers to reveal maws of saw-like teeth which dived onto men and cleaved through ceramite as if it were nothing. Limbs gave way to tentacled ceruleans of light, flesh and crystal which lunged outward with impossible speed to impale, disembowel and crush the Astartes which did not recover fast enough.

"What in the name of the Emperor are those?!" Abbadon roared as he drove his sword into the wound where a Lightbringer's shoulder had once been. "Heavy Support Squads, I want those things destroyed."

"They must have been cloaking themselves in the tainted walls," Sapphire commented while noting the reassembling walls. "Their composition is unstable however."

"Insightful," I muttered as I cleaved the arms off a mutant and used his fall to decapitate it and the beast which was coming in behind it. "Send the tactical readings to the Knight-Leaders."

The Luna Wolves were copping the best they could, the heavy teams quickly abandoned their heavy weapons and resorted to their combat knives and blades. Unfortunately, even Astartes were unused to fighting what were quickly becoming Void-Twisted with their unpredictable change, the rapidly restitching flesh and sheer madness of their foes which they were little prepared for.

Quite fortunately, they were not the only ones present.

"Nine stand before us," I roared through the Legion-Vos as I charged forwards. "The Peacock spreads his wings!"

"We bring the Dawn!" Roared the sons of Calengwag as they were finally able to draw their blades against the hated foe.

Now it was time to see if we could serve our purpose.


	70. Flaw IV

Astartes were beings created to fight, to drive back the foes of man and save humanity from destruction. While the propaganda behind the aim was questionable, their ability was not. An Astartes would fight Orks, Eldar and the myriad of strange things that called the galaxy home.

They were not however designed to fight monsters.

Luna Wolves kept hurling bolt after bolt into the creatures, howling commands as they attempted to adjust to what they failed to realize was the plainly unnatural aspect of their foes. The hulking mutants devoured the eruption into their flesh only to breath shrapnel and fire into our lines, mulching ceramite plate and mutilating Wolf and Knight alike with thermonuclear fire.

Those who tried to resort to blade did just as poorly, instincts and logic fairing equally poorly against their bizarre foes. Those that focused too much on the greater limbs were unprepared for the limbs of flesh, crystal and light which seemed to emerge at random to skewer them.

I was not disparaging the Sixteenth. I knew that in another time they would become masters of fighting and harnessing the queerness of the Void. And even without experience, they adapted quickly. Cycling through plans and ideas at a pace no mere mortals could fathom. Those who were roasted, impaled or otherwise wounded merely hauled themselves back to their feet and continued fighting through the pain with the ferocity of their namesakes. I had no idea what horrors they might have been subject to but their resolve alone was once again enough to earn the Sixteenth their place.

But it was not their element.

It was ours.

With a roar, I charged into the nearest of the hulking Voidspawn. I felt the numbed bite of my suit as the Stalwarts drew drops of my blood to augment the howling blades of nanite-steel which were rising around me and hacking into the limbs which I wove my way around as they shot past me. The beast screamed as the light drained from their limbs as I leapt into one of its great limbs. Calyburne sung as its edge sucked the light from the muscle as it dug into it and provided me and anchor to swing into its center-mass. The strain of my weight shattered the limb as it arched backwards, and the phantom blades formed a cone before me which dove into the screaming flesh. They drilled into the creature in a prismatic storm of light, shattered crystal and shredded flesh. Its limbs exploded along with its center mass as I landed on the stained ground.

I caught my breath and cursed the moronic need for theatrics, but our allies saw that the horrors could die. That was all the confirmation needed for an Astartes to redouble their efforts. If caught sight of my brother charging at another of the things before turning my attention to my sons. They had not paid much attention to their father's efforts.

It was our element after all.

It was funny in its own way that the average child of my adopted home was better-versed in the lore of Chaos than the bulk of the nascent Imperium.

Pink Goat, Green Slug, Red Horse and Blue Peacock. Those were the names of the highest personifications of the Void. Each was a beast which fed from a given concept, regardless of motive and intent. Each was a host onto itself of entities born from the fell nature of the world beyond our own catalyzed by a singular event in our own.

And each had to be fought in its own way.

The Blade-shells mustered around the creatures, boltguns and ranged weapons traded for blades, axes and spears.

The Peacock was a creature that reveled in its creativity and perverse shifting, to adopt static formations was death. So, the Blade-Shells spaced themselves as the tentacles, limbs and maws struck out into their lines.

Blows changed direction at the last moment, tentacles became scythe, maws into hammers and feet into ravening jaws. A mad unpredictability meant to make a mockery of defenses.

But that was the way to slay a manifestation of the peacock. Scythes were locked between schools of blades which energized shields rung together to shatter limbs. Maws were impaled on spears and their light wasted as they were dragged into the floor and broken beneath mauls. The eruption of limbs from failed strikes and the twisting masses were weathered without complaint or shock. These too were pinned and severed.

The Peacock's madness was change for its own sake, never committing to a course which might lead it true. To defeat it, Seekers who delved into their liars had long learned to turn its change against it. Biomass, gem and steel stretched thinner and thinner as more and more limbs were severed and spread until the corridor became a twisted charnel house.

They worked with uncharacteristic disdain, necessary disdain in their minds. The masses of grey or pale colours were too familiar to them, either from hundreds of hours of simulation or from bloody experience.

These were not true Voidspawn and lacked the means to survive when blade-shells began cutting in unison into their pinned forms. Cutting free the light as their bodies screamed and deflated and then began to crumble. Moraltaches drove into center masses with relish and erupted the beasts in mirrors of my own bloody deed.

That my brother had defeated his target was far from surprising, self-confidence and certainty were key factors in slaying creatures of the Void and Horus had both in spades to say nothing of his Emperor-Forged blade and masterwork armor.

As I charged towards the next creature I was struck by an amusing notion.

Father had his artificers to be sure, but the facets of Merlin had made it clear that not just the technology had been his own work but the armor as well.

Doctor, engineer, swordsman and politicians. Those were noble professions of high standing. But a smith, an armorer and a weaponsmith? It brought a slight quirk to my lips as I crashed into a wall of mutant flesh that some fool of noble had probably never realized that his castle smith was worth more than an army's worth of the men he armed.

The creatures were dead within the hour after that, the last brought down by a mixture of our warriors while we beat back the last of the half-mutated Lightbringers. An inhuman scream and another eruption of milky-grey flesh and steel marked the battle's end.

I could not help but wonder if it was petty to note that we had killed quite a few more of the beasts than our brothers. That only seemed fair, the Sixteenth accumulated glory at a great speed and while my own legion earned a fair share, it was never quite as pronounced.

It was only fair that the Demon-Hunters have their due.

"I think that I will have to concede the point," Horus commented over the vox as the men tended to the wounded and the dead. "It seems that the fools actually attempted to use Immaterium-based technology."

As I crouched over one of my wounded sons and directed the nanite streams to seal shut his stomach, I repressed a sigh. "Those things clearly had no structural integrity, they must be desperate if they resorted to such foolish action."

"They seemed strangely coordinated," Horus continued, and I caught a curious expression on the edge of my helmet vision. "Librarius who lose control of their powers mutate to be sure. But never with so much control."

The Void is home to wild animals which mimic life and emotion. Nothing more. That was all Horus should believe.

"A perversion," I made sure to lower my tone to a growl. "Sacrificing their kind to barely harnessed warp-energies. I would not call this control brother."

In truth, I had to give the Awk'kravhok credit for their tactical use of possession. Against an unexpecting foe it could have been far more destructive. Perhaps I might even have found it impressive were I not biting back a fair deal of rage at the sight of my dead sons.

I should have better predicted the ambush more accurately, there was no need for so many of my sons to die.

"Of course, Brother," Horus snorted. "It is strange though, why use these beasts now? And how is their species able to infect those without psychic gifts so easily?"

"A matter to concern ourselves with afterwards, I would wager," Hopefully when my brother was to busy with a thousand different matters and lacked the time to give it much thought.

Thankfully, Horus was quickly distracted by one of his captains and distracted his attention from me. It was still useful to make a mental note to remind Horus of that very doubt if he ever had a problem similar to the Samus fiasco of another world.

I switched to the legion-vox and spoke up without bothering to muster a tone, "Casualties?

"Thirty dead," Sapphire reported across the Second Legion's private vox.

"Among our number," Corvises added from where he kneeled next to body of a Luna Wolf. "Four times that among the Sixteenth rounded up."

"Near a fifth of our force," Trystane chuckled sourly. "But we killed all of those bastards. Not a bad first showing! Keep it up brothers, we cannot have the Void thinking we tucker out quickly!"

That earned chuckles and begrudging snorts from the men, Seeker instincts tempering their kin-rage and loss with bitter humor. Trystane understood that his brothers needed the levity.

But he switched to a private channel and let the irritation bleed through. "Mayhaps we should just save ourselves the trouble and executed our cousins ourselves?"

"Do you question the need?" I asked him. I did not blame him but at times Trystane's fondness for Abbadon concerned me. I did not relish that chance.

"No," He answered immediately. "Abbadon would end up mounted by the Horse five heartbeats into a bad day, we both saw more than enough good men pick up Void-tainted arms thinking 'oh, just once' even though there is no such thing. I just wish we had some excuse to send them somewhere where they will not get all of us killed. Is their perhaps some other place on the planet with more excitement and chance for some very visible glory with an audience to cheer them on?"

Despite myself I snorted in amusement. I should have known better, it was easy to forget that Trystane had no small share more experience than I did against the enemy and he had paid more dearly for the knowledge than I ever had.

"Change her! Save her! Fix her!" Screams and bloody blades, mutilation and treason. My mistake, my mercy, my fault, MY FAULT!

I shook my head and hurried with a response, "That is the Sixteenth you speak of, Trystane. It needs to be a space large enough to fit their topknots."

"Good thing this infernal corridor is so tall then," Trystane snorted before flicking off the channel.

It took another full hour to harvest the gene-seed of the fallen and resume our march, to their credit the Wolves had adjusted their formations to mirror my sons.

"It seems more useful," Horus shrugged. "It does not fail me that your sons seem rather suited for this sort of work."

"You forget that mutants and the perversities of unsanctioned science are old hat on my homeworld," I shook my helmet. "Seekers are made for the unpredictable and the monstrous."

Horus nodded but whether he believed me was another matter entirely, he was an inscrutable smile when its suited him. One reason that I could never fully trust him.

Well, that and his potentially triggering an apocalypse event.

That tended to make one wary.

"I would appreciate your insights nonetheless," Horus smiled. "Your ideas are rarely poor after all."

I chuckled dryly, "Noted."

Humor was beginning to feel tricky, I needed more enemies.

There was something about the corridors as we continued, another twisted addition to the many oddities of the damned tunnel.

The shapes in the hall were changing.

Becoming less inscrutable.

And more like the visages of those just slain.

A deliberate trick of the light where the warp could not reach me.

If their intent was to anger us it was working.

"Holographic manipulation," Gold observed. "Terror tactic? Void-disruptions suggest other symptoms among the unshielded."

"The only thing that will be in terror is whatever fool thinks they are not ending up screaming in null-fire," I growled.

"Do you hear that, Galtine?" Horus asked with some unusual tension in his voice.

"What do you hear?" I asked through my annoyance. I did not hear a thing, which meant that Gold was in the right as usual.

"Whispers," Horus sighed. "It seems that they have taken to broadcasting the voices of the slain, so much for honor."

Oh, well that was lovely.

"As long as it isn't Samus," I muttered to myself. I was irked enough without that particularly thespian making an appearance.


	71. Flaw V

The lessons of Calengwag had their application beyond the more physical engagements with the great foe.

"And so we remember Eidelber, a great and doughty wolf," Trystane cheered happily over the inter-legion vox. "Slain by a greater foe than he had before seen."

The Guildmaster had an incredibly poor singing voice, which made it more at odds with illusions along the walls and the apparent whispers that the Sixteenth were hearing.

"And Raguel!" Another of my sons picked up. "Though he, he fought so well! Might my end by half as good."

"Let us not forget Jibra, dearest brother stolen by claw!" Corvises added his cadence. "Without his aid more would have fallen!"

Others added their rough attempts at song to the overall chant, more at place in some drunken tavern than in the halls of the void-addled temple but it served.

"The humors of your sons never cease to amuse," Horus commented with his typical look calm control and magnanimity, which was a bit at odds with the sweat on his brow and the marks on his armor.

"It is not my custom to mock my foes," I offered a shrug. "But when they resort to such base tactics, it is worthwhile."

It was true enough, even if my words were not as truthful as they might have been.

The Peacock was considered the most juvenile facet of the foe by the customs of my adopted home, a creature as in love with its own brilliance as it was dismissive to that of others.

Which was an elaborate way of saying that for a cosmic force, entities spawned from it tended to be surprisingly thin-skinned.

So, habit was to taunt, to make jest of its traps and its cruelties all the while accepting its dangers.

One could not predict the Peacock, but one could goad it into abandoning its plans by the simple act of not being impressed by its efforts.

Had I a better capacity for humor, I might have chuckled at the notion of Tzeentch perhaps being a secret Primarch.

"I appreciate the notion," Horus said in a way likely meant to flatter my ego. "But we might lend some thought to breaking free of this trap before those whispers become even more tiresome."

My brother was not perfect, but he was no fool, he knew better than to assume that there was any purpose to continuing down the hall.

"I do not advise wall-collapse," Sapphire observed within my warhelm. "The debris suggests that reality is of dubious integrity beyond, the Luna Wolves will be more problematic there."

"For once my sister is correct," Gold agreed while Horus was holding council with Abbadon.

The R&D AI made a growling noise, "For once? Has the void finally addled you?"

The more child Stalwart ignored his sister-construct's ire, "I advise caution, probability suggests that the end-goal is to thin our ranks to ensure that morale and fighting strength is compromised before our arrival."

"Even though it is unwise to do so even to my own view," Sapphire noted.

"Optimal reasoning would be old position and disrupt the Peacock's preparation while awaiting the external conflict to cease," Gold agreed quite readily. "But the Luna Wolves change the circumstances."

Trystane's efforts were a good tactic but we all knew it was inadequate if chaos was already scratching at the minds of those present.

We did not have the time to hold position or retreat as was appropriate.

The Stalwarts also did not need to say the obvious.

'I will turn their trap against them' was a favorite sentence of Horus.

So, there was no point resisting when Horus decided to press forwards down the hall, deciding that speed was the most efficient way to break free of the trap and ordering his sons to join their own voices to Trystane's less than adequate symphony.

The possessed Awk'kravhok kept coming, each time their ambushes came from a differing angle and supported by the mutant Lightbringers.

Numbers, style of mutations, patterns, each was of a different breed than the last.

I supposed that it should have been quite frightening, but it was a relief instead.

The trouble about loving change was that not all things changed for the better.

Our casualties would have likely been worse if the bulk of those new strategies did not involve taking willingly disadvantageous stratagems.

The Luna Wolves were becoming used to not being married to any particular approach in the fashion of the kind and Horus's own apprehension was become muted as the change became less and less of interest.

Placebo was an exceedingly useful drug, my brother's sons were assured by the disinterest of my own sons in much the same way that panicking mortals only added to confusion in another time.

Unfortunately, the deeper we reached, the more the breach became obvious.

The walls were quickly losing their crystalline color in favor of a matte grey and the whispers were apparently becoming 'embarrassingly loud' to hear my brother tell it.

"This becoming uncomfortable," Trystane laughed after driving one sword into the helmet of a Lightbringer in order to tug it upwards and sever the head.

"A mother should be sacred!" Another of my Knight-Leaders grumbled while shattering a limb with a boltgun.

Sapphire had deduced the use of some empathic technology some time ago so the cycling to older scars was unsurprising.

The projections on the grey crystal were living ghosts tailored to each of the Sixteenth, men were reporting images of slain friends and kin from their mortal days of kills and friends lost before the Glass-Hawks were ever encountered.

That would have been inconvenient enough had the enemy lacked creativity.

But although the Peacock was a child, it was a clever one to say the least and I could not begrudge it it's ingenuity.

Void could corrupt technology to enhance the construct's purpose, it was perfectly reasonable to use science to enhance their power.

For one thing, it was a way to overcome the protections of Hollow and my blood in some small way.

The images were not custom tailored but lens-cameras and bare eyes saw galleries of intermeshed dead plucked from each mind present.

It was… troubling.

"Your hearts are beating irregularly," Sapphire cautioned. "Should I filter the relevant images out?"

"No," I grunted with an ire that surprised me as I tried to avoid looking up.

"Were it not so blatantly inhuman and craven," Horus commented as he cleaned his blade. "I might have the Mechanicum dismantle this place, to be able to pluck images so indirectly from a mind. To say nothing of the scale of it. I am unsure whether to be impressed or revolted."

"The latter," I said, letting genuine anger into my voice. "This is like sort of arrogance is what led to Old Night."

"I do not doubt that brother," Horus agreed patiently but it troubled me slightly that his agreement was not more visceral. "It is still a feat."

My sons were disciplined enough to maintain the Eclipse, but the kin-death and the visages of death were enticing an ire beneath the attempts at humor.

I had always been aware that my blood carried a certain propensity towards a rage at the death of kin.

It had been my companion for so long that I did not pay much mind.

Even under these circumstances.

'Rage' was not even a particularly fit term for it.

It was really just a desire to kill, to avenge.

A single-minded purpose that drowned out all but a craving to destroy all obstacles between oneself and their vengeance.

But even that was useful.

Or so I thought until the holo-ghosts began to speak and move with unseen projections.

"Fix me!" A ghost yelled at me as she threw herself between me and a Lightbringer, I hesitated for thousandth of a heartbeat before resuming my strike and shearing through both her and the creature.

The phantom reformed, naked and broken at the pieces connected by viscera and ash.

I heard Trystane's growl from a distance behind me, humor fading for a moment as he cut into a foe.

"They are not real, that is not even a good likeness!" The Guildmaster laughed over the legion-vox, the laugh sounded fake to my ear. A comforting pretext. "Focus on the task before us! Kill the bastards faster! Fight through the night"

"For we bring the Dawn!" I roared into another Lightbringer elbowing it down and crushing its head beneath my boot while cutting through the halberd of its fellow and into the meat of its throat.

More ghosts were appearing, but these were at the edges of my vision, with a much more ethereal quality than the holograms.

I forced them back while focusing on progressing down the halls to where a gate was appearing.

It was a polite fiction to think that my warriors were running due to an urgency.

"Symptoms are worsening, father," Corvises grunted over a private channel. "Our rage is manageable, but I am uncertain how much longer the Sixteenth have."

"Hold back," Ezekyle Abbadon growled, the claws of the void bringing ire to his voice and his own steps thundering to keep up. "We are spreading ourselves thin! That damndable voice is scratching at me and I am not reacting like a temperamental infant!"

The words seemed to be having a dubious effect on the Luna Wolves, their leashed rage was quickly losing the former part of the name. Their rage was a reckless ferocity that was dispersing squads thinly enough to be scythed down, I was impressed that they were still holding so well.

"No need to fear Abby," Trystane laughed. "We are almost there, then we can strike our foe in their genital-analogue."

The gate at the end of the hall was predictably grand and the defenses before it was suspiciously minimal beyond the steadily growing throng.

"We should end this sooner," I told my brother as a matter of pretense, trying to bite back the desire to pry off my helm to spit on the false holo-phantoms.

It was a trap to be sure, but I was not sure, but I could see that the Luna Wolves were close to losing their cohesion entirely and my own men were becoming more focused on killing the foe than protecting their cousins.

"That is fair," Horus laughed while ignoring the circumstances. "Shall we go greet our host?"

I wondered what it said about my brother that he controlled his rage so well at that moment.

Lupercal was not an especially difficult creature to strike at in terms of ego so it might well be that an appeal to empathy was simply a less viable way of rousing him.

I effected a snort, "First, let me issue a formal greeting."

With a command, my sons shifted to move closer to the absence between the wrung of combat and the gate itself and dozens of krak grenades were frown at the grand gates.

The detonations deafened the virtual pleas of the phantoms and the passageway shook as the crystals creaked and cracked from the force of the blasts.

"I believe that I advised you not to do that!" Sapphire complained while her brother hummed approval.

"I had thought to make a grander entrance," Horus commented while erupting a mutant with his boltgun.

"There is no need to invert every plan one encounters," I chided before a great screech echoed forth.

If the screech was meant for silence, as the paused Glass-Hawks, mutants and Luna Wolves suggested, it failed spectacularly as Trystane took the opportunity to knee his foe in the codpiece and my sons followed suit while I started charging for the foe which had emerged from the collapsing gateway.

Great grey wings beat in outrage as it flew forwards, each feather a gemstone of superb quality.

Its six limbs were as thin as they were taut with muscle, each an interplay between colorless light and poems of bleached bone. Each clawed hand held a staff topped with a rune-shaped spearhead.

What clothing it wore over its eldritch frame were robes and bands of diamonds and white gold.

The great head was a raptor of surpassing length, with a beak more like a scythe and a crown of blade-like quills rose over eyes of plain coloring.

As the god-beast flew towards me, Trystane managed to ruin the moment.

"Beware Father! The foe sends a giant crystal cock!"

Blade crashed against blade.

And despite the ghosts and the anger.

I met my foe with an earnest laugh.


	72. Flaw VI

I was surprised by the scream of the blade clash.

It was not the first Major Breach I had encountered.

It was not even the seventh.

That did not mean that it would be a simple task, for the great Voidspawn before me was the first of its kind which I had battled away from my dear home.

I had not expected what would happen as Calyburne became a white so blinding that even my eyes crinkled at it. The walls cracked under the strain of immaterial arcs of energy that I could not have predicted.

I needed to account for the violence of the blade when it impacted unprotected aetheric energy and my foe was far from willing to allow an adaption.

Each of its six halberds were wielded with the flourish of genius, shrieking through the air with long sweeps and sudden jabs that gave lie to any perception of the entity being weak or unskilled.

Each blow came within microseconds of the other as we crashed and pushed away from each other in the engorging space of the crystal halls.

Every time I parried a strike, the great Moraltach arcs and roared what had once been a silent keen.

I did not have time to indulge in the battle.

I was vividly aware of my sons engaging with the throngs of void-tainted xenos even while I saw more pouring in from twisting walls to join the battle, the moment of assurance of just a minute ago had given way to a struggle to hold the life while I engaged with the abomination.

Each moment the glass cracked and seemed to breath out as if to better facilitate more of the creatures emerging from the walls as the streams of reinforcement tried to become akin to a tide of shrieking avians and bloated monsters.

Horus was trying to reach me and my foe but the tide of creatures crashed into his sons even as the maddening whispers they heard drove them into escalating acts of reckless aggression.

My brother craved glory, more than enough for it to be a crippling fault.

But for his 'men' to be annihilated was well-beyond what both his ego and his notions of honor could tolerate.

So, his efforts were stalled by the need to issue orders and to break into weak points along his lines to shatter the foe like the pseudo-angelic beings our father had intended us to be.

My showing was far from being as impressive.

I needed the Voidspawn dispersed, and I needed it done quickly.

"Pitiful thing," It jeered with a voice like grinding diamonds. "Twisted gasps in the eternal sea."

The god of the Glass-Hawks was a magnificent thing even to my void-deafened mind, each movement was a rune-etched tapestry, each strike had a poetry about it that I suspected might have had meaning to one that could hear its effect.

"They are so shameless when their feathers are spited," Gold murmured as he moved himself into battle. I could feel the flow of the nano-constructs swarming around me as Stalwart Gold bled me to forge its weapons and Sapphire sealed the nicks in my armor even as my physiology kept me in an ideal condition.

The nano-machine swords were no different from the weapon in my hand, each eased the difficulty of parrying the light-forged poems of violence and each screamed in violence.

"You think to use trickery against this majestic one?" It jeered. "You who are not an ember of wit? I need no sorcery, I need no wisdom, grind colored one. Grind to dust!"

This was the first of its kind to act without cleverness and composure but the Twin Paths and the Heart of Learning had been creatures long-accustomed to their minds being numbed and being forced to exert their own minds in truth.

If we had time beyond counting, I would win.

That was not arrogance but merely the most probable scenario I concluded after moments of fighting.

I had battled many of its kin the time since I had tried my luck against the Champion, each had cost me terribly and I recalled the names they gave themselves perfectly.

I knew enough even with the change of parameters after I accustomed myself to the changes.

I would win in time.

The trouble was that I did not have so much time.

The phantoms and the green were crawling further into my vision as I registered each lost child in the lines.

Slain by the cowardice of the Void.

It made my strikes faster, waiting for an opportunity.

The creature was too proud of its violence, too proud its strikes.

"I am the joy of revelation, the mercy of enlightenment!" It thundered as it plunged a staff that grew far longer as it jutted forwards. "I am far beyond that which is worth spending upon your kind!"

It over-reached and prized the creativity of its strikes over their practicality.

So, six armed Voidspawn over-reached and plunged three spears forwards while sweeping between the blades with its remaining arms, I bent backwards and let my blade go into the embrace of the nanites and flipped out of the way of the strike.

My warplate was more flexible than it seemed, my father had used data cultured from years of battle to know my love of irregular movement.

The monster tried to retract from its strike, but it was far too late, I catapulted over its blades as Calyburne fell into my hand and I drove the blade deep into its wing of crystalline feather.

Power hummed from my plate as my inhuman strength was multiplied by its overwhelming momentum.

Shards of glass like a dying mural exploded in muted light as it screamed.

The sound was the birth of stars, chanting congregations and the screams of triumph in one to my own ears.

I heard the much louder wails of xenos and astartes alike as I drove my weight deeper into the wing, cleaving it even as the arcs of ancient technology dragged across the wings like avaricious claws.

The creature wasted no time in trying to throw me away, but I managed to avoid the spears as the limbs struct backwards with no care for the impossible angles.

My success was short-lived as the long beak of the creature drove into my shoulder with a primal violence that nearly penetrated the warplate's exit.

I roared through the pain as I drove Calyburne into the dull void of its eye.

The scream came again as it flung me into the rapid and mad expansion of the walls.

Crashing against the crystal was not as bad as the wound in my shoulder, unnatural crystals were being tugged out by nanites even as my flesh wove itself shut.

"ABOMINATION!" It screamed in a voice of threshing crystal and lightning. "MALFORMED CHILD!"

Any precept of honor vanished as light raced forth from its spears as it thrashed, arcing into the lines of the grand melee. Knight, wolf and hawk alike were consumed by the beams of shattering light without consideration.

Those caught in its wake saw masses of flesh vanish even as flesh was transmogrified into screaming crystal.

"Eclipse comes from the peacock! Discard the feathers!" Trystane roared as Dawn Knights moved around wounded brothers as the wounded hacked at the infected flesh with powered weapons.

Arms, legs, gust and even necks were cleaved through without question or hesitation.

No Seeker would tolerate seeing their flesh twisted by the Void.

I paid sparse attention to any but my sons as I plunged towards the beast as its shattered wing tried to reform and it clawed at its twisted face.

Any other Primarch could have easily tracked what befell the others, would know where Horus was.

But all I saw was my dead sons.

All I saw was the leering phantoms in a world of green as I charged towards the monster which existed alone in the world.

I heard other roars match my own, but I did not distinguish them through the kin-rage. I did not hear the roars which came from further than I could fathom.

The impact with the great beast was a violent impact of blades driving through its wrists as it screamed, and my blade lopped overhead to meet it.

The glass ribs shattered in a blinding eruption as I pulled it open and plunge my free hand into the aether, nanites running around the gauntlets to twist it into long claws.

I grabbed onto the core of the creature as it flailed and cursed against its makeshift crucifixion.

Calyburne screamed as I plunged it again, carving at its imaginary organs.

"Ignorant! Blind!" It roared with an animation that made me wonder as a shard of my mind marveled at the relative minority of the creature. "You deny the light itself."

Light erupted from its core, fierce enough to tax the protective energy generators of my armor.

I anchored myself hard to its body as I carved symbols of rejection into its flesh.

The creature launched itself with its crippled wings in desperation, cutting free its arms with some unseen magic and diving its beat for me again even as the white arcs of Hollow clawed at its unreal flesh.

I dropped one hand and swung out of the way of a diving beak and wrapped my arm around the neck before swinging it into the screaming sword.

The monster screamed as the blade bit deep into the neck, but not deep enough to sever as it swung itself into the walls.

"Integrity decreasing," Sapphire roared at the edges of my mind as I kept at my work as the creature fell apart piece by piece.

"Malformed infant!' It roared without a mouth. "Open your twisted mind!"

I had no words for it.

I wanted it dead, I wanted to avenge my blood and to carve the sun of Ailbe into the heart of that filth, to brand it for eternity.

Calyburne tore at its inorganic flesh as I ripped a wing off with a single-minded purpose that could care nothing for my own life.

The light kept erupting as we fell into a spiral from far beyond what should have been the halls ceiling.

Webs of falling crystal raced across the mutating halls as their anchor died and technology bled itself empty as the things operating it faltered.

"You kill yourself even as you kill me!" It screamed before we impacted with violent force.

My helmet and armor bent inwards from the strain and violence which nearly shattered my still healing arm.

But there was no time to mind as I hauled myself up limped towards the sprawling wreckage of the creature.

There was nothing but killing the monster.

I felt my neck burn from the collar my father had given me.

The idea of taking it off only lasted a heartbeat.

It could not be allowed to escape.

Death was what it deserved.

"Pathetic," I managed to string together enough cohesion to growl.

The laugh almost pierced the desire to kill.

"Am I?" Its grinding voice was clearer without the attempts to resemble its archetype. "I suppose I must be, malformed one. Tell me? Does your creator delight in inventing new perversions?"

The thrumming crystal mass at the make-shift crater was the target.

"I must offer him praise," It ground out. "I had not expected the crudely-cut to have such a hideous shade."

"Die," I said evenly before shattering the gemstone with one final overhand blow.

There was no eruption of energy or scream.

It just stopped talking, stopped glowing.

As the green receded, I let out a breath and surveyed the halls as they crumbled to dust.

Starlight and the fires of war lit the sky.

"Breach is fading," Gold reported.

"Vox-channels resuming connection," Sapphire continued.

After another moment, I sighed as the nanites set about their work and slumped back.

"This… this is going to be quite the story," I tried to say lightly.

"At the very least, brother," Horus Lupercal noted as he slid down what I realized was a full-fledged crater.

There was a bit of effort in compiling my lines.

"Father has a point with regards to Immaterium-Technology," I said.

"To say the least," Horus acknowledged. "The whispers have finally stopped at the very least."

"I am gladdened to hear that," I breathed as the last of my wounds closed. "Should I ask about the injuries?"

Horus seemed confused for a moment at why I had not tracked the sum myself before shrugging.

"Heavier than expected," He provided.

That was expected.

What was not expected was the flood of reports that poured into my vox at that moment.

I had underestimated the effectiveness of that damned peacock.


	73. Flaw VII (Morygen PoV)

She had thought things were looking better.

Bureaucracy, minding to the needs of her kin, had been a surprisingly enjoyable way to be of use. It had been something of her own as her husband contended with the external concerns of their legion. Modifications and years of practice had combined with a surprising aptitude to make the flow of resources in her legion as knowable as her own heartbeat.

Even minding the ironically-named Screaming Tower had helped make her something entirely of her own.

Things seemed to be going so damned well.

Then, in the most academic of terms, things had gone to shit.

Morygen did not bother to allow the gunship to land as she launched herself out of it, trusting to the artifice of her body and the eldtrich mechanisms of her armor to keep her from becoming smeared bits skewered on the spiky tatters of the city of sublime spikiness.

In retrospect, she was lucky that she knew enough math to work her way around the violent winds of the storm while calculating her descent.

Behind her she heard the ignition of her sons launching themselves behind her on their jump-packs, the ridiculous tools having been issued to the majority of forces deployed at her order.

She broke her fall by latching onto the side one of the jagged and broken towers with her left boot and gauntlet, energy fields complaining as she dragged her way down eighty or so meters before burning enough momentum to make a safe leap down to the carnage-strewn street.

Her landing was much squishier than she expected.

Which was hardly a promising start.

The entire avenue was littered in a vaguely violet slurry from the mixture of human and xenos blood, in which were a great deal of bodies. Morygen hummed at the sheer variety of age, sex and species of the pieces she could readily identify before looking up.

Well, She scratched her cheek as she looked to see her ship landing in the distance, realizing that she would have difficulty hailing them if the need arose. I did not think this one through. Spilled milk and all that.

There would be no point in waiting for them and she could hardly hail her sons at any rate.

The wisest choice was to proceed.

Most of the invasion had gone well enough at first, the eighteen regional capitals were sacked at a good pace, she had even personally taken the heads of several richly-dressed and reasonably competent fowl.

All was going incredibly well.

Then all communication from the capital was cut off and every astropath in the fleet had a collective migraine from the spikes of immaterial interference.

So, it was no surprise that she had her sons redeploy in Parties across the capital once they penetrated the wind-resistance after pulling rank (and guns, mostly guns) to ensure the Sixteenth would not have any annoying ideas.

She hummed as she pulled up the hard-saved data of the map scans of the city from before the assault and compared them to her planned vector and the what her armor could register, a good first step was always to figure out where in the given flavor of hell one was.

Her enhanced brain and expensive armor quickly worked out her location in the southeast quadrant of the city, a good number of leagues from her target.

It did not bother her a great deal, the storm was much more violent towards the center of the capital, so it could not be helped.

She frankly felt much worse about the Army transports that had been caught trying to flee the storm and so currently littered the broken city.

After roughly ten heartbeats of analysis since her landing, she determined her course while the thunder of her sons descending around her meant that she would not have to waste too much time.

There were probably far wiser options than having deployed her sons, but she liked to think that she did the best she could with her enhanced mind and years of experience against the Voidspawn hosts.

And it most definitely was Voidspawn, the Pointiest of Atropaths (as she had long-dubbed Kerukeion) had been certain of a Void Breach so she was going to trust his judgement and try to prevent her dear brother-by-marriage from being exposed to the Void a full two centuries ahead of schedule.

She smiled as she loped through the streets, leaping over wreckage and darting between walls when the paths were blocked.

That, and keeping her beloved husband's head attached.

The thought kept her spirits up as she passed the gore of the botched attack.

The wider avenues were littered with ruined vehicles of both Imperial and Glass-Hawk make, many bore the marks to be expected from esoteric light-weapons or the diverse implements of human weaponry, but some showed marks of claws, eruptions of crystalline growths and even stranger wounds.

Her sons leap-frogged behind her without a doubt or question, Cadmus Party were fifteen of her most competent sons and a good mix of Terran grit and Calengwag knack for not dying.

"Mother," Knight-Leader Breacc spoke up over their thankfully clear vox-channel. "This carnage…"

"Well we do not call them Voidspawn after their manners!" She pointed out as she ran. "And yes, I get your point."

Among the litany of wounds were the marks of bolt shells on very much friendly targets.

"Shoot it if it is not the right colour!" Morygen instructed while they moved. "And shoot it if it dead, cannot be too careful."

The Void could be so clever when it wished to be.

That and the overabundance of Peacock symbolism made her feel a touch silly for not having noticed the corruption before.

Not that it had been obvious before.

It was strange though, the humans on the other worlds had shown minimal signs of corruption and the Glass-Hawks had seemed little more than sanctimonious Dire-Sparrows.

Morygen had killed plenty of their psykers in the xenocides and none had ever shown any such affiliation.

Probably something to be said about stereotyping, she noted with a chuckle.

Her humor was severely dampened when they reached their first Astartes corpse.

One of her sons, Aenci, found him sprawling over an upturned rhino in a position that might have suggested that his back was broken.

If he had still had legs.

The torso of the former Luna Wolf looked like her had been bisected cleanly along the mid-section, that his arms terminated at the joints only reinforced the idea that he was caught off-guard.

"That's not good," Morygen sighed as their Dian'Cecht harvested the gene-seed. "You boys are not easily caught by surprise."

"Possession?" Aenci asked as he and one his brothers trained their boltguns over the rhino.

"Like as not," She scratched her cheek in thought.

She felt odd watching her pseudo-nephew's body.

Whatever her doubts, Morygen knew she was a good Seeker.

So, it might have been unfair of her to be surprised that the Luna Wolf might not think to be wary of his squad mates turning on him.

It is a bad way to go, thinking that you were betrayed, she thought sadly as she pulled the harvest body down and laid it in the cleaner interior of the vehicle as respectfully as she could. I hope you died before you could think of that, dear nephew-by-marriage.

The story repeated itself again and again as they made their way through the ruins towards the center.

Luna Wolves and even her own sons, slain by the Void's grasp.

It made twin feelings well up in her.

The first was anger.

A feeling she liked to compare to that of a wrathful mother, the feeling of having a very direct and dual purpose.

To protect what was hers and to claim vengeance for those taken from her.

The second was pride.

Pride that none of her sons were found barring back-wounds or alone, they were either slain as Parties or they slew together.

And both legions scored a fair tally from what she found.

Bloated and twisted bodies littered the streets the farther she progressed, abominations of emptiness, copper, crystal and flesh which might have once been Glass-Hawks.

It was around the time of the first one that she touched the aurumite collar from around her neck.

"No sense wasting an advantage," She shrugged as she passed her fingers along the etched surface, feeling the thrum as she dialed back the restraints.

Fully uncorking the thing would be counter-productive if they found survivors after all.

As they breached the outer courtyard of one of the numerous thanes, they finally found a survivor.

"Help!" A Luna Wolf called as he limped forwards on a leg of twisted metal. "Thank the Emperor, I had thought that everyone else was slain."

Morygen signaled her guards to stop and moved forwards along.

"What is wrong?" The legionary asked as he hobbled closer, confusion coloring the pitch of his grills as he starred with his remaining eye at the Knight-Leader with puzzlement. "I know you Seconds can be a bit odd but come on man, I could use some help after what I have been through!"

His laugh was pained and pleading as he passed Morygen without taking notice of her.

So very rude, she thought as he walked into a close range of her sons.

In a heartbeat the twisted metal of the fused leg was a spring and the possessed-thing prepared to leap.

She drew Gualguanus and brought it down on the once-human's head in a simple and smooth motion, ending it before it could register the blow.

She was surprised by the burst of light and the scream of shaking metal as it cleaved skull from jaw with the ease of a hand running through water.

It stumbled forwards a step and then two, bare jaw flicking around in confusion and a pained sound rasping up from its esophagus.

Morygen brought her sword down on his breastplate and split it open with another scream of light.

That time, it did fall down dead.

"Neat," She observed as she studied the blade and made a point to thank her father-by-law for his tutoring when next she saw the 'semi'-god.

"Mother?" Breacc asked.

She shook her head, "Just the musings of an old woman, my son. No need to trouble yourself, just burn the body."

They encountered more possessed after that of course, Astartes and Glass-hawk alike seemed to be try to fake weakness and attack when that failed.

She let her sons destroy the bulk of them, but the mockery of their kin encouraged them to fight harder.

Wrath, when leashed, was a quality she could appreciate and very much felt herself.

It was healthy to hate the Void, as far as she was concerned.

People who hated the Void typically did not sprout tentacles after all.

That being said, the Void did not have a monopoly on horror.

Case in point, they emerged onto a truly horrific scene.

Mutated corpses were scattered throughout the yards, flesh was intermingled with glass and debris and ceramite in a torrent of destruction throughout the yard.

Luna Wolves lay in scattered bits of armor and bone throughout the yard along with the broken birdies of the bigger bird.

But Morygen barely saw that.

Her own sons lay broken in pieces as well, torn by light and fire and claw.

Breastplates were torn open, warhelms were collapsed, limbs were severed.

They had died hard, but they had not been slain completely.

At the center of the carnage, away from the bodies of his brothers, stood a single knight.

He stood there, not seeming to acknowledge them or anything else.

She could see his armored hands twitching, one tensing into and out of a fist while the other flicked the power generator of his blade on and off.

There was no humor in her as she walked forwards.

It was not the Void.

But she knew something was wrong with her son.

"I am Morygen of Ailbe," She began carefully. "I was Silver as the Guild I held by way of Justice, Charitable by the nature of my Oath. Aggressive in my disposition and lord in this war eternal."

His head flicked towards her mechanically and she could see his features beneath his red-brown locks.

What she saw made her hearts stop.

"I am Gareth," The voice was familiar under the depth added by age and augmentation, there was no emotion in the words.

No.

"Emerald is the nature of my Honor," Half his face was her face and half was a ruin of scars and metal frown old.

My sweet Walwen.

"Merciful by the nature of my oath," His eyes had always been her green but now they shone with the same lambent radiance she had adopted.

What have I done?

Her child, her beloved and last piece of her sister.

She stood so still that she might have been made from stone.

He held her gaze without emotion or word, just the shaking of his hands.

"Mother?" Her Knight-Leader echoed behind her.

No, what have I done?

He had begged her.

"Walwen?" She forced the name out.

He did not react.

"Gareth?"

He did not react.

"Answer damn you!" She roared at him, but he merely stood there.

Her sons seemed unsure what to do, she could hear the slight grind of their helms turning to each other.

It did not matter.

Your face, She looked in horror. Your scars, your shape, your eyes. What happened Walwen? What did you do?

"Mother," The Knight-Leader pressed, seeming to put his hands on her pauldrons.

"Answer me!" She repeated, her hearts deafening her.

"Mother!" The Knight repeated as she shook him off and ran to grab onto his gore-smeared breastplate.

"Answer me, damn it!" She roared as she shook the astartes. Her unnatural strength warped his plate under her hands and servo-motors screamed in protest, but she cared nothing for them.

I promised that I would protect you! She roared glaring at his unblinking eyes which had becoming a mockery of her own.

"Mother!" The Knight-Leader finally pulled her away from him with the help of one of his brothers.

As she let go, Walwen collapsed.

"He is unconscious!" The Knight-Leader roared, and his exasperation and fear woke her up to the fact that the entire squad had been yelling.

"Walwen," She starred down blankly, still meeting those unblinking orbs.

What have we done, my love?


	74. Flaw VIII

"Is that the case?" Horus tapped his seat.

That is the case, now please go do something constructive, despite my emotional range being somewhat muted and my face expressionless, I was absolutely certain that my brother was aware of my annoyance.

The conquest of the world was a great success by the standards of the campaign, three thousand Astartes dead to take an empire which had proven itself had been a mighty breed.

Especially since our combined fleet had deployed after elements of the XII and VII legions (totaling eight thousand) had been annihilated along with literally billions of men and the thousands of ships of the eighty first Expeditionary Fleet had been utterly destroyed.

A great success.

If not for the fact that two of those three had been taken from us on the last world.

If not for the fact that half of that had been taking the continent-spanning capital.

If not for the fact that we had lost nearly a thousand sons to a trap.

If not for the fact that my Gene-Seed was far less stable than I had thought.

If not for the fact that the kin-by-marriage I had sworn to give a proud life had fallen prey to it.

I was not in the mood to put up with my brother when it came down to it.

There were better things to do, I needed to be fixing the problem.

"Your doubts?" I asked as patiently as I could.

My dear brother had decided to pay call on the Avalon a few days after the fall of the Glass-Hawk capital when it became clear I would not be called from my attempts to salvage as many of my sons as possible.

So, I hosted him in one of the more grandiose meeting chambers in the ship. A room of tall, vaulted ceilings lined long and carefully interwoven tapestries of knotwork and seats of carved stone and masterfully cut gemstones.

My brother took a long drink of the wine I had tailored for him when we began our together. He swallowed and looked at me for a time before answering, "Brother, you cannot mean to take me for a fool?"

There it was.

And yet I have to keep going with this, thanks father, the sardonic comment was at odds with my shrug.

"It is the truth," or half truth at any rate. "My sons were born to a world which well-remembered the lessons of Old Night and to be frank, they are still taught afresh every now and then."

"One can only hope to be so gifted in applying a lesson," Horus commented.

It was natural for him to be suspicious of the circumstances.

Morygen's first reaction to the outbreak was to essentially strong-arm my brother's legion into staying still as she redeployed nearly half of my forces into the city with such efficiency that mere 'similarity' did not explain it.

Neither did the fact that the bulk of the losses had been on my brother's side by an overwhelming margin, because where his Army units had been nearly annihilated my Auxilia emerged with only severe casualties.

Suspicion that I was not being truthful was a natural recourse.

But I had to try.

So, I resorted to retroactively getting vengeance for Loken.

"Brother," I sighed. "You know full-well how troublesome the Immaterium can be."

"And yet, as I see it," Horus smiled a touch. "I thought that I did."

Real clever.

Arching a brow, I mirrored his smile and focused my eyes on his. "Then you know that sometimes playing with the warp can bite a man's hands when they draw the attention of the things within it."

I remembered Horus's explanation of Daemons to Loken as well as my creator's more detailed explanation of his sorta-kina-not-really way of explaining the Immaterium to his sons.

Which was to say all of it minus there being actual thinking entities behind it all.

The beauty of it was that it was very much true in a sense, Chaos Gods were not sapient in the way a human was.

More like if a hurricane could develop a grudge against a particular state or have a preferred tavern.

Well, that and sorcery.

And really, sorcery was magic, and magic was just ill-understood science.

By human-standards, that is some amazing mental-leaps, I thought with some amusement.

"Fifty-four," The future-Warmaster rolled the number. "It has happened before brother, some ill-begotten thing of the warp has crawled into a man and corrupted him. But never so many at once, brother. Never has anything like that thing and that place happened before."

Scales were such inconvenient things.

I expressed my frustration by stroking my beard, a gesture of empathy.

"I beg your indulgence for a brief tale then," I offered with a smile. "When I first returned to father, he was a touch disappointed."

"In what regard?" Horus asked with a pretense of patience.

"Our father was under the impression that I knew more than I should of things," Which was not the opposite of the truth, but I had gone over the story with the Emperor more than enough times. "Things that he believed dangerous to those who had not earned knowing of them."

I could have seen that frown coming from Terra.

"The warp is a tricky thing that preys on the ill-informed or the arrogant," I smiled conspiratorially at him. "I am sure that you have heard some of the more misguided reactions that some can have."

"Oh, I am very much aware," He agreed in a tone that suggested I should pick up the pace.

"Then be aware of our father's much advanced lesson to me," I said pointedly. "We are neither all-knowing, patient nor humble. So, some of the minutia had to be protected in order to keep us safe. Were it not for my rather unique condition, I fear our father might have written me off."

It was bullshit, and worse, it was a lie designed to play on his insecurities.

As a point of fact, father had given me a contingency plan should any of my brothers be unduly exposed.

I had just hoped that I would not have to test my creator's patience on the first brother.

Horus glared at me, silence dominating the room while I went over the medical data of my sons by memory as I had throughout the conversation.

If this goes south, he might overreact and wipe us out, I thought bitterly. But trying to cover up the possessions would have given Chaos a far uglier tool to beat me over the head with later. And it would be impressive to argue my way out of them, the whispers, the ghosts and the greater daemon.

"So, you admit that you know more about what befell us?" Horus asked.

"I can freely admit that it was xenos-trickery which relied on using the fouler end of the psychic spectrum," I said plainly. "But I can say no more than what father told me to say."

"And what did he tell you to say?" Horus asked.

At least this is the easy part.

"That it is natural for a father to worry for his sons," I smiled with more bitterness than I intended. "And that if you wish to know more, you may simply tell him that you are ready to begin."

Horus was disturbingly easy to please in that respect, just assure him that his interpretation of the emperor's 'speech' was correct, and he would sway. That was one of the flaws that most irked me about the brother I loved after a fashion, as well as most of the brothers I would one day meet.

Our creator loved us in his own way, but that cold and distant way was in no way dissimilar to the love a second or thirdborn son of a king would receive if he was no especially favored.

A potentially useful and still loved 'tool', which even then seemed petty given that most 'tools' are not given free-run of a planet and galaxy-conquering fleet to do with as they pleased.

Humanity was his firstborn, his heir and his favored. It was petulant for the bulk of us to complain and I suspected that at least a number of them never noticed the irony of their having done the same thing to their adopted siblings.

We were the luckiest second sons to ever draw breath really, even if the emperor was hardly a good father.

"Begin?" Horus asked after another long pause.

"I have no notion of what he means to do," I chuckled. "Although I would advise making apologies to the Sigilite for any past-offense before you take the matter to him."

That part was completely honest, it had been unnervingly easy to convince the Emperor to go along with letting my brother 'earn' knowledge if there was no choice.

I strongly suspected however that Horus was better off trying to find the Black Library than get a straight explanation or pass whatever 'test' our father might devise.

But I was not joking when I claimed that Malcador might contrive a way to justify throwing vehicles at the future Warmaster.

Horus chuckled and finished his drink.

"You will tell me the tale once I pass these tests?" He asked with some amusement, arrogance already burning in his eyes.

I tossed him a coin from my pocket which he deftly caught.

"My people call it a Debter's Coin," I explained. "A mark of something owed. I promise that I will explain to you what has happened when you are triumphant."

Horus inspected the coin, the Guild-markings on its back and the Ailbe Crest on the front.

"I will hold you to that, brother," He said as he deposited as clutched the coin and pulled himself up. "And thank you."

For?

"The battle below cost you," He smiled sadly. "I lost more men, but their deaths tend to mark you, I was much the same at first."

He clasped one gauntlet on my shoulder, "It seems that we both had much to learn yet."

I smiled at my brother as believably as I could.

I do not think that you realize the depths of how right you are, in more senses than one.

"Then bear with me for one more unreasonable demand before we prepare to part ways," Sometimes necessity could be uncomfortable.

I needed to cull the corruption.

…

The order had come as a surprise to both the liberated slaves and the Imperial forces.

With methodical precision, every ship in the combined fleet without an Authority Generator came as close to the planet as could safely be managed while the ships of the Second Legion spread around the planet like a great net wrapping around some creature of the old sea.

Then it came.

Every mortal soul felt it before hearing the wail.

Skin prickled, and breathing picked up as if gasping for air, psykers groaned as they felt a penetrating force sink into their minds like burning rods.

Then the scream came as a white flash consumed the planet and the fleet below.

Those who had not heeded the warning were struck blind and those who had not made it to the shelters on time collapse from the hemorrhaging of the brains as a primordial screech ripped across the planet.

Cities shook and any vessel that dared take flight crashed as the pilots lost consciousness., voidcraft had issued narcotics to dampen to coming blow and fragile equipment had been moved off the planet.

But it all lasted the span of a heartbeat.

Then it stopped.

And seemingly nothing had changed.

The world looked the same, the cities still lay in ruin and the crystals still shun.

Except where everything was different.

"Running preliminary analysis," The voices of which had momentarily reconstituted Merlin sung. "Warp-ways remain stable, terminations within expected parameters, Void-contamination within tolerable levels. Satisfaction/Acceptable/Suitable/Sustainable, Purgation-Protocol successfully enacted. We may now have cake."

"Was the cake a lie?" Morygen asked tiredly.

"No, there actually is cake," I sighed. "Well, cakes. We should celebrate."

"Probably," She sighed before turning to leave the bridge. "I will go check on them while you do that."


	75. Flaw IX

It was frustrating to fail at your designated function.

That had much to do with the grim cast the Apothecarium Primaris had worn for nearly a full month after Compliance had been achieved.

As was standard procedure, the wards of the Apothecarium Primaris had been divided to attend to different segments of the problem for later cross-analysis but the result had just made all present more anxious.

"The mutation cannot be coincidental," Cobair grunted with frustration. "The scale and synchronization of the changes are implausible bordering on the impossible!"

The Dian'Cecht gathered around the holo-display grunted in agreement with the words as the records of their labors projected onto the central viewer.

I did not speak as they delved further into the data, tugging out specific images and dissembling them while calling up reference documentation to illustrate their own research.

There was no need to, they were absolutely right.

"The Secondary Heart is transfixed on a magnified output," One senior Dian'Cecht spoke up while pulling up the countless trials undertaken with replicated imitations of the subject-organ. "The pace seems to suggest a pattern akin to that seen in the loss of the primary heart."

"Given the results of our efforts into overlooking the changes in the Haemastamen, this is not dissimilar to the state of sustained ejection of adrenals within a baseline subject," Cobair ran a hand through his auburn dreadlocks in exasperation. "The changes alterations are by all indications a sort of adaptive mechanism to sustain the higher strain."

"My own hypothesis is that the source of this portion of the transfigurations is the Oolitic Kidney," Goriasen spoke up to the agreement of the others assigned to what was honestly the most disturbingly precise of the changes. "We have mapped a complete reconstruction of its regulatory functions, to say nothing of its emergency functions being locked in near-permanent usage."

"Catalepsean Node seems have undergone drastic reconfiguration as well," Corvises added while redirecting the debate towards the odd results of examinations into the minds of the subjects. "It is in compliance with observed behaviour, but the subjects seem to be engaged in some sort of REM sleep as well as showing traditional signs of night terror while seemingly conscious to motor-functions."

They continued on that fashion.

Strange mutations to the adrenal glands, sensory-input being severely disported, the Multi-Lung seeming to have expanded as well as the strain within the baseline circulatory system.

And of course, the Occulobe. The implant seemed to be wakened from the pseudo-dormancy the typically followed the ascension period while developing peripheral systems which had somehow gone previously undetected which had forced a host of changes onto the eyes themselves.

In a series of developments eerily similar to what I had myself done to my beloved, reflective layering and increased input.

Every single change was the result of rapid and coordinated mutation.

If mutation was even the right term for it at that point given the suspicious lack of accidents involved.

Secondary transfigurations both in baseline organs and gene-seed structures had also been detected almost immediately as well, it was as if the entire anatomy had been a trap waiting to be sprung.

When the discussion finally lapsed into silence, it had less to do with having exhausted the subject than it did with all present having reached the same conclusion.

It was not some sort of gene-flaw or unprecedented Void-Mutation.

Suit records confirmed that each of the effected Dawn Knights had been the last of their Party, each Party had logged irregularly high casualties in the past and all had been attacked by possessed parties while their suits had already logged heightened stress and systemic irregularities.

Every single subject which had suffered the change had met it under seemingly comparable circumstances and the trigger made entirely too much sense.

All had shown to be in a state which could be compared to a seemingly-permanent human adrenaline rush coupled with a state of somewhere between consciousness and sleepwalking. Records had shown truly superb improvements to aggression, reaction time and tactical reasoning despite the subject seemingly illustrating no capacity for higher-thought beyond simple repetition.

There could be no doubt that it was a deliberate change.

And the source did not take a great deal to guess.

"Our mother's blood," Corvises dropped the words like a death-sentence.

Most likely his given the way he braced himself.

"How dare you!" Goriasen spit as his hand shot for one of the scalpels on a nearby table even while all eyes went to the Terran.

"Stop," I commanded and glared at the Calengwag-born. "Allow your brother to speak, all of you."

I turned my eyes to the elder Terran and nodded for him to continue.

"I posit that this change was interwoven into our gene-seed upon inception," The Terran ground his teeth between words, as if forcing them out. "Given the origin-points of the transfiguration, I would suggest that the retrovirus containing our own mother's blood may have contained an element designed to aggravate the symptoms under suitable conditions. I in no way mean to offer offense to our mother."

Silence fell as the others considered the elder Dian'Cecht's words for a time before offering nods of agreement.

Goriasen walked forwards until he stood within a foot of Corvises.

He wordlessly ran the scalpel over his right hand before offering it to the elder astartes who gratefully accented the tool and imitated the cut before clasping hands.

"I offer reaffirmation of our tie," The younger bowed his head.

"And I accept the intent," The Terran nodded gracefully.

It was an old ritual of apology in the 2nd which had survived assimilation with Calengwag, it was best to mix new blood rather than allow bad blood to fester as soon as possible.

"The conclusion is clear," I spoke after the two had resumed their places. "The Emperor has seen fit that those last among us to fall are to be granted the power to strike a final blow for their slain brothers."

Which was a kind way of saying that my sons had something akin to a 'suicide-switch' built into them.

It was the conclusion I had reached three terran weeks past.

What was worse however…

"It is the power to avenge our kin," Cobair repeated with a perplexed look on his face.

A look that was mirrored on the other Dian'Cecht.

I knew what it was because I felt it as well.

That mix of horror and admiration.

My father really did breed us for our roles, I mused bitterly.

…

I found Morygen where I expected to find her.

The forty or so that were already being called 'Those that Answer for Their Brothers' had been placed in in a previously empty bay which had already begun a rapid transformation.

Walls were still being ripped out and replaced with medical and armoring stations by armies of Servo-Skull drones overseen by Tech-Priests on the lower levels while the upper levels had already been completed.

She stood before one of the stations with a look I knew for grief.

"I saw the report," Morygen smiled thinly as I approached her.

That was not surprising, the news was being disseminated amongst the entire fleet at that very moment, Calengwag was a culture that placed a premium on vengeance and more on defiance against the Void.

No one was reacting in a way part of me found right.

I knew there would be horror, I knew there would be grief, but there would also be joy, relief and even envy.

The power for the last standing to give themselves to strike a blow before their own demise? It was the kind of legend that Seekers could appreciate as preferable to just being ripped apart when there was no escape.

"I can still read you," She snorted before turning to regard me with her own lambent orbs. "They have my eyes, all of them."

There was a tension in her voice and the smell of old tears about her.

"We were cheated," I said flatly as I stood next to her, observing the Answerer.

He looked like every one of the others, encased in his armor and standing in an apparatus which was half armoring station-half medical station.

The only thing that marked him as alive was the subtle ticking of the monitors and the way his hands twitched.

"Where we?" She chuckled bitterly. "I do not think we ever questioned it."

It was true and that was what hurt.

The Emperor had made many of his changes to her as instructive lessons as I worked with him over her, cutting, opening and closing, replacing and improving her as I had done for years.

I had perhaps been foolish to think that I could have gotten everything, that there was not more to it.

"We were cheated," The sigh was heavy. "But I cannot hate him for it."

"Neither can I," Morygen walked touched a hand to my tunic. "Most of your brothers would be having a fit right now."

The joke was a touch forced as was her smile.

The show was for her own benefit, she knew I could see past it.

"Does that make me weak?" I asked curiously. "Should we be heroically casting off our bonds, storming Terra, or sending out petulant messages like a small child?"

"No," Morygen's smile gained more legitimacy by becoming bitter. "I might not have so fancy a brain, but a small child could see that doing that would just be projecting."

I effected a snort, she was right.

We were angry at ourselves.

We were angry for having walked into a trap, for leading so many of our sons into what might have been an avoidable death.

And for the failure in front of us.

"How did we miss this?" I asked frankly while starring at the Answerer.

It was another pointless question that I knew the answer to, as well as my love did.

"Because we wanted to run away," She chuckled. "Because it is easier to focus on building a new family and forgetting the one we destroyed."

"We both have photographic memories," I pointed out, only for her to jab me in the gut playfully.

"Don't be pedantic, it does not suit you," She muttered while starring at our former ward. "Alten found his record."

"I know."

"Did you look at it?" She asked as a matter of course.

"Yes," I nodded.

"We taught him well," Morygen smiled ruefully. "Caice was happy that he remembered the essentials of fabricating an identity."

Percivale had been in a distinctly foul mood since learning that his former student had joined his ranks unbeknownst to him, the normally cheerful Guildmaster had personally sworn that he would meet every future inductee into his Seeker-Astartes as the closest thing to Penance.

Not that I actually held him responsible.

Walwen had done well at joining the Emerald, going into the depths of World-Like-Storms and later feigning memory loss. Old tradition and the way he heroically intervened in a Voidspawn skirmish had done the rest.

He had even genuinely found and reclaimed a restorative steroid.

"I wonder how he escaped Coilmin?" Morygen asked idly while starring at the lenses of the helmet.

"I do not suspect our cousins looked too hard," In truth, they might have been relieved to be rid of a potential upstart. "Caice will look into it when we return home."

"And I will also ask about," She added with a stiffness to her smile. "Pointedly."

"There is no sense in harming them," I pointed out, to both Morygen and the ire welling up in my gut.

"Sometimes projecting can be calming," She shook her head while laying a hand over the breastplate of Ymer's child. "We really fucked our oaths, didn't we?"

"In almost every conceivable way," I sighed.

Ymer, it was still difficult to even think of the name.

We had promised her as she lay dying, the words were still as fresh as her blood on my hands as I had desperately tried to both save the child and preserve the mother.

We promised to spare him from involvement with the Seekers.

We promised him a good life, the opportunity to someday make a family of his own.

We promised that he would not meet the same fate as every other member of Morygen's kin.

That he would not be another sacrifice for our ideals.

It had been a selfish promise in retrospect and one we had undermined with our unwillingness to let him go until it was far too late.

"Well," She let go of our son almost every way. "There really is no sense in staying here."

Morygen took my hand and smiled warmly.

"We will fix this," The words had a tone of promise. "Now let us paint on some smiles and go bid your brother farewell."

"That is hardly a fitting way to describe it," I tried humour.

"We all have our flaws," Morygen snorted. "Being overly-attached liars just happens to be ours."


	76. Homeward I

A feast was held on the sixtieth day since Compliance had been achieved over the Xenos.

...Which was still a fascinating way of describing the near-total xenocide of the Awk'kravhok.

Much like the fall of any enemy capital, priority was is given to looting data archives and traffic records for the coordinates of any holdouts that might have been previously missed and the deployment of fleet elements to correct that mistake.

The last of those groups had returned triumphantly for days prior and marked the end of the shared efforts between the XVI and II Legiones Astartes.

Such things required celebration.

So, it was that a great feast was celebrated across the fleet with due ceremony.

Four Thirty-Two shun as a lilac orb above the vaulted ceilings of the Vengeful Spirit's feasting hall as Horus Lupercal raised himself up from his seat at the high table.

"My friends!" The laughter in his raised voice had the same infectious quality it always did when his mood was good. "Oh, my dear sons, my kin and my treasured allies! How long have we made war together to pick up the broken pieces of our beloved humanity? Can it truly have been so brief a time since my brother joined swords with me?"

He theatrically spread his arms in a gesture that might have been surrender if such a word could be applied to him.

"Five years! Bah, it seems like an age has passed! Yet now we must be parted again, for the needs of the Imperium and of the Crusade are greater than any of our own comforts!"

Astartes thumped their fists against the surfaces of ceramite long tables in agreement with his words, others toasted with glasses brimming with a rich, silvery colour.

"Let us look back!" The future-Warmaster declared while waving his hands at the campaign banners which lined the hall. "Let us see the glories which have been earned by the joining of the Second and the Sixteenth! The Knights of the Dawn and the Wolves of Luna! Of the scions of hard Cthonia and fair Calengwag!"

I idly wished there had been ham on hand to go with my brother's speech.

It was the Horus's credit that he had given Morygen the seat to his right and sat me to her right. A well-calculated move to stroke my ego as likely as an action of genuine of affection.

It was vain in my own opinion to ever assume that a feeling was mirrored.

I genuinely loved Horus as a brother, but Horus was singularly gifted at hiding his own thoughts. Like as not, he disliked me and viewed Morygen as an indulgence.

That did not really matter to me, and I doubted Morygen cared much when it came down to it.

She liked that he was hammy and not an ass.

I loved his easy charm and the relentless unwillingness to leave things on a bad tone.

"Brother!" Horus laughed. "I confess that I once found the word hollow, a promise of rivalry."

He said the words shamelessly, showing a touch of weakness in his smile to play the crowd into a sense of intimacy.

"But look at our joy today, look at our grief! I say to all of you that I have found a stalwart love for my brother and no small affection for the one I would call a sweet sister! I ask you, my sons! And you, sons of my brother! Am I alone on this?! Do we not all find brothers in each other?! Brothers in war and in blood!"

As his pitch was raised into a jubilant thunder, the beating of fists grew louder as ten thousand astartes roared their agreement.

Horus took up his goblet and raised it high, turning it in the light as of seeing it for the first time.

"Some would find it odd," He said thoughtfully like an actor delivering a monologue. "That our bond would be cemented with a simple drink. In this Amasec, the Apothecaries of the sixteenth have derived as fine a vintage as any born of Terra. From the roots and fungal essences of distant Cthonia. Drink of this my sons and remember simpler times."

He sipped the drink and smacked his lips before smiling broadly.

"Not the Mjold of the VIth, not a potent thing of inebriation but a reminder. Let this Mirror-Wine be as we are. Let it be made from Cthonia, its essence preserved through refinement even as it becomes greater! Grander! Drink with me, my sons! Kin of the Second, come and taste the blood of your brother's birthplace!"

He toasted again and this time all present joined him in drinking deep from their goblets.

The taste had been a pet collaboration between the legions for years, the wine had a kickback that would probably overwhelm the human senses and melt some organs. That was not really the point however, the point was to escalate and add nuance to the tastes of a variety of Cthonian ales.

The result was bitter as a grudge one moment and as sweet as hard-earned survival the next, it was a mercurial drink whose taste said more about the consumer than the product itself.

In a word, it tasted of nostalgia.

Lupercal smiled distantly as he put his cup down onto the stone table.

"I detest pomp," Horus admitted to the hall, managing to fill the room with a whisper. "But I confess that I have come to an appreciation for your ritual Dawn Knights, do not think me a simple man. We are warriors, fierce and cunning but we can more than appreciate the meaning behind it."

It was a funny trick, the way that Horus maneuvered around the fact that he was Terran himself and had little real 'savagery' to him.

All of my brothers had and would wear their adopted cultures like bad cosplay, but Horus managed to claim it so genuinely.

"And I commend you, my brother! I commend you, I commend your wife and I commend your sons!"

It was genuinely flattering to hear the no-doubt calculated compliments but Morygen seemed amused by the spectacle.

"And finally, allow me to present you with a gift, dear sister," Lupercal put emphasis on the last word as he signaled for the Mournival to come forward.

The four Astartes lifted themselves from their tables and walked with a measured pace to stand before the table.

As one, they walked towards the chest which had been sitting to the side of the chamber since their arrival and took each of the four handles to bring it to sit before the high table.

Ezekyle kneeled down and pulled the lid from the chest.

In a bed of white vellum was a dagger as long as a man's forearm.

Berabaddon picked up the knife gingerly and held it forwards.

It was a fine fine, a long tassel of black hung from a crescent-shaped ring. The sheath was fine white leather etched with Cthonic runes speaking of choler.

"A small gift," Horus laughed as Morygen accepted the dagger and drew it to admire it in the light.

Black steel shun lustily in the light with a murderous gleam.

"A beautiful thing," She said admirably while weighing it for balance.

"None will ever say Luna Wolves are fools," The Sixteenth and First Primarch laughed joyfully. "And I understand your custom well enough to know that I would be left in debt to expect you without gifts."

Oh joy, we have become predictable.

I took that as my cue and stood up.

I hated speeches.

Not because I saw little purpose in them but for the simple fact that I was vividly aware of my lack of charisma.

But one has to try.

"Then you know us well, my brother," I modulated my voice to imitate humor.

I turned to regard the tables as the Mournival turned back to their tables.

Despite the curses woven into my gene-seed, I was grateful for the simple voice-modulation I possessed.

"I will speak frankly," the smile was well-practiced. "There are many that have and will speak ill of our legions. That will speak ill of our brothers."

The tone was distinctly clashing with the celebratory air but I pressed on.

"They will speak of our origins," I shrugged. "Hive-scum, savage gangsters, mercenaries and wanderers. That is all we will ever be to some."

Horus's smile became a little tense while discomfort was showing among the Luna Wolves.

"So, allow me to tell you a story," I smiled. "A story that is only remembered in abstracts by most. From a time beyond time, when humanity engaged in tales of the divine."

"There were once twin demigods," It was tricky to mold my tone into a storyteller's voice. "These two were separated from their rightful kin by tragedy and the envious."

A double meaning there.

"The babes were saved by a beast of the forest that offered them succor," Morygen stood up to take my arm and smile at the assembled warrior. "They were taken by lowborn who could see their potential from the breast of the beast in her lair."

"Through their feats, they were reunited with their kin," I picked up. "By charge of their divine father, they were bade to raise a city."

"Tragedy took one brother," Morygen spoke up. "But the other called all who would stand with him to the city."

There was some confusion among the gathered, but the Dawn Knights had begun to stamp their feet on line with our tale.

"What came were the dregs, what came were the scum!" I effected a growl. "And he took them into his arms!"

"They became as his sons!" Morygen added, raising her pitch in line with the stamp of her feet.

"They were the savage, they were looked down upon!" I roared. "But he and his heirs tempered them with law, with honor and discipline unrivaled!"

"And when others challenged their right? They responded with war!" Morygen's smile was vicious for a moment. "But what did they offer their foes?"

"Not pain, not death," I shook my head for effect. "They learned from their foes even as they forged them into kin."

"So, it was that year by year, century by century. These barbarians grew through an unrelenting ferocity and an undying discipline." Morygen smiled down on the gathered warriors. "They took the world."

"And they were not weak, nor soft," Arms folded for effect as the Knights cheered. "They wore their savagery as proudly as they wore their discipline! They indulged in the finery, in the wisdom of their glorious empire while never forgetting from where they came!"

"They were the ones you now name Roma as a myth within a myth!" Morygen called. "One of the first and greatest of the Terran empires!"

Well, after a fashion but 34 and 36 thousand years ago might as well have been contemporary given.

"And in the sons of our brother!" I declared. "I see the same make!"

"How could we not?" Morygen asked. "For the beast that nurtured their great founder was a wolf! For the beast's lair was dubbed Lupercal!"

"Your ferocity, your discipline!" It was difficult to properly project the enthusiasm I was aiming for. "You are not a tool, you are the soul of the Imperium! You are the guardians of mankind! And it has been the finest of honor to fight alongside my brother and his glorious sons! You Wolves of Luna!"

"You Wolves of Terra!" Morygen finished.

The last was met with relieving thunder of cheers and approval.

Which was great because I was aware that it could have easily come across as insulting.

I could see Horus beaming out of the corner of my eye, his ego stroked to possible implosion.

Which was great given the awful gift I had for him.

"So, I wish to present a gift to you," I smiled. "A gift you might find crass, distasteful and even insulting."

Horus raised a brow dramatically as I raised a hand to signal for the doors to open.

The room fell silent and the surprise on Horus's face was gratifying.

It was worth the strokes several Mechanicum officers when Onyx had hijacked the security systems to prevent detection of the surprise.

It had been a tricky thing to manage, a side project which I had I indulged in since my apprenticeship with the emperor.

"I am told that our brother likes to keep the company of wolves," I shrugged as the astartes kept their eyes glued to it.

They sensed the threat as it passed.

It was a towering thing.

At the shoulder it was five meters in height, with an ease to its gait which was at odds with its enormous bulk.

Its frame was almost ideally balanced between strength and grace, encased in fur a brilliant white.

Streaks of blonde appeared here and there throughout its form in carefully designed patterns around patches shaped like black moons.

It blinked through red eyes as it came to a stop before the high table and seated itself on its haunches.

While the others marveled at the visible display of it, a few portions of my brain were monitoring its various systems through my senses.

Perfectly healthy.

Horus was staring at it blankly and I realized that I was holding my breath.

"Father helped me with her at her base elements," I shrugged. "But he left me to finish most of her when I departed Terra, I recognize that it is not the most appropriate of gifts."

There was some hesitance in me as Horus slowly walked around the table and starred up at her.

"Does she have a name?" He asked curiously as he held out an arm.

The she-wolf lowered her head and sniffed the offered hand for a moment.

Her great nostrils flared for a moment before lowered her muzzle into his fingers.

"It would defeat the purpose to give her a name," Morygen smiled. "that is for you to do."

"If you would accept her," I added carefully.

Horus passed a hand over her great head as she hummed in appreciation.

"You love your symbolism too much, brother," Horus chuckled. "All of you do."

"Is that a no?" I asked as a matter of course.

"It is a yes," Horus chuckled as addressed the chamber again. "Once more, I thank you my brother. I also offer thanks to the Emperor, Beloved by All! Welcome her my sons! Welcome our Lupercalia!"

Huh, the word wrung in my head. This went surprisingly well.


	77. Homeward II

It was bittersweet for the Eighty Second fleet to once more plunge into the warp.

The bitterness was for the separation from the brothers they had earned amongst the Sixteenth, for the retreat from battle and for the losses suffered.

But that was in truth the lesser sentiment.

There was relief and jubilation potent enough to shake the very vessels apart, for they were free of their masks for a time, free to celebrate mighty deeds and intermingle without fearing the perception of outsiders.

"Cursed is the Goat!" Morien of the Pearl raised his goblet high as he walked to the edge of the high table's plinth. "May it ever be destitute and degraded. Six times it challenges and six times it shall be found wanting!"

He was met with cheers from the thirty-two thousand sons of the Second Legion, two million Seeker Auxilia and assorted Terrans as the words were broadcasted throughout the fleet in its Authority-Shell. The eldest eighteen thousand sat in the main hall of the fleet, the cavernous chamber within the Avalon known as the Hall of Ailbe. They were joined by the most senior and respected of the Seekers, Mechanicum and Titanicus.

"Accursed is Slug!" Percivale said solemnly as he stood to face out to the gathered warriors. "May it meet its final end in true despair, may its eternity become as dust and may joy become as a stranger. Seven times it clings to life and seven times it shall be slain."

The words were a binding tradition across the thousand nations of Calengwag and the count was carried by all present.

Trystane and Alten'lo stood as one and mirrored the others in taking their goblets to the edge while speaking the words as one.

"Damned is the Horse!" They intoned, words matched as was their role. "May it be robbed of battle and be dubbed a coward. Eight times it calls for blood and eight times it shall be found weak!"

Tor Galath completed the five points, "Condemned is the Peacock! May it be bound in stasis and be revealed for a fool! Nine times it calls to great display and nine times it will be forgotten!"

Dinada stood but remained unmoving, "Five times shall the Void be culled, once for obsession, once for conflict, once for stasis, once for change and once for all!"

"And once culled shall the spirits be made free!" Caice Pa Gur raised his cup.

"For the soul of all things shall no longer be quartered!" Morygen took up the line as no master had yet to be elected for the Silver.

It was ritual but a ritual which the unification had changed.

"And the Void shall be mended," I chanted with the remainder of Round. "And the scars of old shall be healed. And this world shall be made whole."

"And until that impossible day comes," The gathered. "We shall fight to bring that sunrise. We will bring forth the dawn of that final day."

Silence fell as all drank deep from their cups. Once for themselves, next for the fallen and last for those yet to come.

Laughter erupted as everyone returned to their places.

It was a relieved laugh, a revelry of taking up old ritual and remembering their place in the world.

Even as the laughter died down, gates poured open as armies of kitchen staff marched forwards with a riot of plates and slabs. Servo-drones poured from the tall vaulted ceilings to rain lights and perform complex feats of aerial mastery while Seekers of every stripe recovered instruments to add to the celebratory air.

"Habit is a wonderful thing," I smiled at the Round as I refilled my mug. "It has been far too long since we did this."

It was unseemly to celebrate apart from our allies and enough had made of the presence of the few mortals at the feast, much less near-dwarfing of the Astartes.

To say nothing of the rituals which custom demanded be observed in a proper celebration.

While the plates were served, Arch-Magistrix Kagu'Tsuchi leaned forwards onto the stone table with her upper arms to allow the long talon's which tipped them to tap at the table.

One of the advantages to having phased out any real need to eat was the ability to speak while the others ate.

"It is efficient to issue a reminder," Her industrial voice of grinding gears, beating hammers and heavy machinery managed to effect annoyance. "There is no permutation under which values are to be altered nor will it be acceptable to commission artifice below the approved structure."

Alten'lo let out a deep harrumph after swallowing a thick chunk of roasted Grimboar, "Once again, Lady Magistrix, the order has been issued."

"It has been issued previously," The Arch-Magistrix reared up to cross both sets of her arms, the panels of her bronze face shifting into a frown. "Yet seventy-three documented irregularities have occurred since the last recorded dispersal."

"Haggling, Kagu'Tsuchi," Morygen snorted. "It is called 'haggling'."

"The definition is known, Legion-Mother," The opal orbs that served as her eyes narrowed. "The viable paths are for this behaviour to desist or for it to be deferred to superiors."

Morien stopped with a spoon half way to his mouth and raised his head to the Mechanicum woman with a face of mock-horror.

"Pardon my ears, dear lady," The master of Pearl put down the utensil and ran a hand through his silver hair. "You mean to say that you will take the matter to us?"

"Affirmative," There was something distinctly unnerving about the literally razor-sharp smile of the Arch-Magistrix. "Certainly, it will offer no loss if the outcome is so desired?"

A pleasant effect of being aware of the speed of an Astartes mental-processing is that one can all but see the mental math running across the table as all present realized how much work would be entailed for them.

"I would like to point out that the other Sect-Masters technically retain authority," Igreyne spoke up gruffly, it was understandable given that the woman spoke for the entirety of the two million mortals Seekers present in the fleet.

I could all but see the smugness in the Mechanicum Magistrix as the others of the round rushed to think of how they could defer the duty on some unlucky subordinates.

…

The revels lasted in rounds of feasting and prize-giving for the weeks that spanned our journey back to Calengwag. Astartes and Seeker alike tabulated earnings and used them to contract work from the Mechanicum forces of the fleet while clans of ship-crews were relocated in order to properly account for casualties until new Astartes arrived to permanently take charge of the families.

In general, one could sense the building anticipation which raced through the fleet, the mounting eagerness as every day that passed drifted closer to home.

Until the day arrived.

It was always interesting to sit on the bridge, while the Avalon boasted as large a bridge as any other Gloriana, it was conspicuously thin in both station and crew.

In the place of hundreds were perhaps a hundred and fifty stations scattered across the many tiers, each a complex array of uplink ports and monitors that required some degree of implantation to operate properly.

Which meant that the room was purposely designed to carry an unusual number of vox-relays.

"Realspace-breach imminent," Megaera Bolas reported with her typically half-pained and half-blissful tone from her implanted throne.

"Noted Lady Navigator," Fleetmaster Ningishzida accepted the report from his place directly below me. "We shall arrive soon, my lords."

The Fleetmaster had been a veteran of countless wars when I had selected him to lead and much like the High Astropath, he scorned any treatment that would serve for vanity. Dark skin had been rendered cracked and lined by age to match with a meticulously trimmed beard and a clean-shaven scalp, although the mantle of uplink cords digging into his scalp gave them impression of a steely mane. He never sat straight or reclined on his command throne, preferring to lean forwards with his chin resting over his arched fingers, red augmetics starring forwards as in expectation of imminent battle.

"Almost there," Morygen stretched on her throne theatrically. "Nearly three years but we are almost home."

It amused me that Morygen stubbornly clung to the Calengwag calendar as did much of the fleet, the Terran reckoning of a year seemed flighty and even disconcerting to many of my adopted homeworld.

"Please do not put a jinx on it, my lady," Ningishzida sighed. "I would not tempt plausibility."

"For a man of sixty," Morygen snorted. "You are entirely too much of a worrier."

"One does not make it to a hundred and twenty years without some caution," The Fleet-Master chuckled as the officers below worked while trying to ignore the bickering of their superiors. "And we are in a far from ideal state."

Morygen snorted, "Well of course but if it will happen, it will happen."

The Purgation of Four Thirty-Two had been successful but no number of field-repairs could solve the strain that operation had put on the Authority.

In theory, projecting the Authority to such a degree as to overlap a planet was old-hat for the civilization which had called Calengwag home, an old measure used in the wars against the Men of Iron to confound constructs such as the time-space devouring Mechnavores.

In practice, that had traditionally been done under the auspices of a colony's own systems and applying that logic to a battle-fleet had been an uncertain project even with the pooled efforts of the Stalwarts and the Mendicant. Even 'success' was only in the roughest terms given that there had been thousands of cases wherein the warnings had been ignored and those caught out of the shelters had been reduced to little better than servitor parts.

The sum result was that the Authority generators of the entire Expeditionary Fleet needed at least a few months in dry-dock to return to their full functionality and would have been beyond repair if such an operation was attempted again.

It was less than hour later that the Authority-Shell was fragmenting into non-existence after emerging into the Aynia Su'une System.

Seven planets had once orbited the standard G-type main-sequence orb, which the people of Calengwag had no name for other than 'sun'.

In ancient records, it had been called Aynia by the fallen civilization but the name had fallen out of use in nearly all regions of the homeworld. The only name they had was 'sun' which High Gothic translators had somehow understood as Su'une due to the syntax of the Hiber'Calian languages and their irksome liking for the old name.

Hence, the Aynia Su'une system.

"Thunder-Like-Arrows, Teeth-Like-Swords and Eyes-Like-Lances relaying greeting codes," The Signals Officer reported even while Mendicant Onyx repeated the words in my warhelm. "Navigation codes transferred."

Teeth was still being restored last time, I observed with interest.

The system could be (generously) mistaken for a corpse trying to drag itself back to life.

At its height, I could have imagined the glittering capital of a large and heavily developed polity, worlds reconfigured to fit life or entangled in webs of industrial systems harvesting material and churning out the needs of empire. Great hab-colonies, orbital platforms and deep-space stations littering the space between worlds that served to buttress the might of the system's worlds from the seat of Calengwag. All protected by an enormous defensive system which showed how wary the original owners had been.

Now?

The system was a thing of corpse-planets, debris shoals held together by malfunctioned technologies and ruined stations.

Three fleets of the Mechanicum owing allegiance to the Magistrix and the fledging navy of my Homeworld roamed the system in packs, cracking hulks and setting up disassembling stations which would be working for centuries.

Priority had been given to resurrecting the starforts that had been drifting for untold millennia in the orbits of the most stable worlds.

Now three had been awakened.

A good start, I mused as the oculus projected the three mobile platforms across the system map. Still not nearly good enough.

I was protective.

And my home needed to be able to weather any storm.


	78. Homeward III

It resembled nothing so much as a stump.

A stump grown so utterly massive as to stretch the mind of any sane mortal, like the tree Yggdrasil had been cut at the base by some mad giant.

The central structure was spread in thousands of levels descending around a central spire which seemed to arch out in long arms of nascent cityscapes, armories, parade grounds and countless other subsects of function. Where they did not overlap the surrounding mountain, they plunged deep into them only to sprout up again in tiered mountain-top facilities.

The air was positively humming from the constant flow of traffic across the mighty roads and roars of descending and ascending ships of every size and configuration over the tireless efforts of Mechanicum machines which seemed more like worlds onto themselves than mere construction units. Alongside the Mechanicum constructs worked far older things with silhouette's far too streamlined to suit the aesthetic taste of the Mechanicum, ancient Treasures bent to the will of Beneficent Silver as the Regent worked alongside the Priests of Mars.

It had the pure look of life and renewal to it.

The sight was akin to what it had been on the Scarred Lady, the moon's titanic arms coupling with thousands of warships being rebuilt and overhauled to serve the Legion while the Expeditionary Fleet splintered into the dozens of reactivated orbital shipyards to seek service.

It was also a scene mirrored across the entirety of the terrestrial giant as cities were founded or girded with the spoils of the Crusade.

But nowhere else on Calengwag was the image so perfectly fitting as the Fortress-Monastery.

The Great Hearth had matured in the years since contact with the Imperium, growing into the foundations that had been constructed with future improvements in mind and continuing an evolution half of a century in the making.

It was difficult not to look at it from the viewport of our Stormbird without giving in to reminiscence.

Ember-Like-Spires had been a grand hive once, eldest and principal foundry of Calengwag. Built into a volcano of epic proportions, slaving its fires into vast generators which had in turn powered the lesser hives which had sprouted like courtiers around a newly crowned conqueror. Long-dead technologies had powered great manufactories which had been dredged up through orbital tethers into orbit, feeding the needs of the planet and the later expansions outwards into the system. Even when it had long ago outstripped its initial purpose, old records marked it as a potent symbol to the old civilization of Calengwag, the unshakeable spire which bound together the world.

The Fall had had given truth to that claim, even as daemons poured from the forges in hides of molten metal and eyes like furnace fires, dressing themselves so finely as to mock the dreams of artisans while giving art to their highest forms. Even as the cities around it died with the thundering crash of ships, stations and the corpse-shards of artificial continents rendered too small wholly intercept. Earthquakes and floods and stranger things had devoured the bones of the dead and rendered towers and hab-blocks into hills and plains.

But not the Spire.

It had been damaged, millennia had seen fire unbound, towers had broken and collapsed.

But it had stood in all of its grim glory.

The ember of what had once been, burning across day and night so none could hide from what had been lost.

Until the day our host had come…

"Brooding?" Morygen asked over our private vox, stirring me from dreams of times past.

"Somewhat," I admitted. "Thinking back on old times."

"Do you mean the time I took the head off of that bitch?" I did not need to see through the demon-faced helm to see her toothy grin as she tapped the half-Aeldari, half-bovine shape of the helm. "I like to remember it too as it happens."

"I mostly remember running away from a collapsing hive," That was untrue but the memory of something akin to terror was rather difficult to ignore.

She folded her arms, "If the whole thing had collapsed then we wouldn't have been able to rebuild the thing." The helm turned towards the viewscreen. "Well, the first time. We could rebuild the planet with those things."

"It would not be the most excessive thing that the Mechanicum had done," I shook my helm.

"Like teleport a planet?" Morygen whispered conspiratorially. "I still think that you are exaggerating with that one, love."

"I would argue that the patience for building one is a more impressive," I shrugged.

She quirked a brow.

"Although I confess that it lacks a certain kind of effect," I explained.

Morygen leaned into her straps smugly, "Never underestimate the power of effect."

The banter fell away as the craft prepared for its final landing.

The thrum of entry into the hangar and the thump of the clamps marked the start of the drumming.

Not the drum of a parade band.

Not the drum of an orchestra.

The angry, rhythmic strikes used by Emerald for millennia to welcome the Master of Guild.

Other sounds poured in as we unlatched ourselves and the entry-ramp lowered.

Flutes, lyres and others joined the low growl of the chants.

"It never ends," Morygen muttered.

"The Emperor would agree probably," If Russ had the right of it, at any rate.

"But it would hardly be the proper action of a mother to ignore her new children," Despite herself, I could hear a smile creeping into her voice.

For all that she complained, Morygen loved Calengwag and all of its pomp. She also loved her children, even those she had yet to meet.

Some vestigial part of the identity that had been grafted onto my mind sometimes worried that we were too alike in that respect.

We walked off the ramp to the sight of the four thousand new sons of House Ailbe, bronze and cinnabar livery interspersed with the colors, sigils and markings of their various affiliations, they kneeled in columns as the ritualists played their instruments from the high galleries, knotwork banners hanging from tall stands bearing the Sun of Ailbe.

Were that all that it meant to return home, it would have been a thing of pure joy.

To feast with new sons, to reunite with old friends who had been unable or unwilling to ascend.

The days that followed would be all that and more of course.

But that was not all that there was to it.

…

I remembered Tinta'gile.

I remembered having awoken in a small home which had barely accommodated the Ailbe sisters even before my intrusion.

The happy and canny people that made their living from the Seekers that tracked the 'tides' of the Warp and Authority throughout the yearly cycle.

A warm Alderman that had accepted Morygen's claiming of me without hesitation.

The smith who made my first sword.

Building houses with earnest farmers.

Aiding an old scholar in translating a dusty old tome.

The tavern where I had met Trystane, Iseult and Ector. The same place where I had met Morygen and the other men and women that would plunge with me into the heart of a lost world.

I also remembered the ash that clung to the churned mud.

The burnt-out frames of houses and the molten remains of the old forge.

Our first true home collapsed along with the hill it had stood on.

The bodies of friends that had grown old, the twisted remains of their mothers and fathers, sons and daughters.

A slaughter of kin, the mutilation of the friend I had sent as emissary.

Desperation having driven me to overrule her protests and her trust in my command.

The stench of human meat and viscera burning.

A warning, a show of might.

And the retribution that followed.

Tinta'gile, the name was still used.

But what it meant…

"This place never changes," Morygen scratched her cheek as we walked down a road of perfectly placed stone. "Oh, life was different each season, busy at high tide and struggling at the low. But it never really changed."

"I know," The words were thick with discomfort.

How could they not? Whatever else I was, I was still human.

"No," Morygen frowned as she looked up to meet my eyes. "I don't think that you do. I changed things, more attention from the lord, more guards coming and going. But not really, not like you did."

"Is that meant to be a slight or a compliment?" I asked mechanically.

"Both, I think," Morygen let her shoulders slump under her heavy cloak. The light snows could not affect either of us in truth, but they were, like the entire trip, an exercise in trying to recapture a sense of mortality. "It was for the best that we left I think, everyone got things back to normal."

"I think you are right," My smile was light as I regarded our old village.

Paths of immaculate, technologically-melded stone ran in patterns along sloping the burial mounds which stood with only wraiths and memories for company.

At the foot of each mound stood a gate, ritually sealed with cords of metallic knotwork as was custom to mark the providence of the dead. Each was marked with the names of the spirits that dwelled within and the marks they bore in life, their likenesses rising from alcoves around the base of the mound to look over shrines where incense and offerings might be left.

Most were empty of course.

Most who were buried here had precious few who remembered their names, much less living kin.

Tinta'gile had grown with the years, intermingling with the spreading forest as new mounds were erected and dead were brought to join their kin.

"Do you think they mind?" I asked her as we walked the lonely avenues. "Being here?"

"I think they like it," The smile was strained. "No one will forget you if you have others to talk to."

"We remember them well enough," It was not as if we had the ability to forget them.

"But we are only real every once in a while," She chided me. "I do not think that incense burned on the other side of the galaxy counts, that's just habit."

I snorted as we passed a wraith, it ignored us even as we ignored it.

We had no business with each other after all.

"I think it would," Even if they were not 'real' we had burned incense for the kin of my soul's imprint as well as those we had lost ourselves. It was just proper.

She laughed at that, prompting me to raise a confused brow.

"I wonder what Horus might say," There was a rueful humor to her words. "To our wondering about like cultists in a grave, speaking of souls."

"Academic," The shrug came easily. "He will never see this place, he did not know them."

We wove through two more wraiths as we approached one of the large mounds, the cloudy day making the snow-encrusted sun atop it seem more than a touch defeated.

We stopped before the door and bowed.

Unlike the other tombs, the gate was completely engulfed in a tapestry of intermingling names and honors, so many that they spilled from the door to engulf the mound with stone claws.

Faces ranging from the sharply features to those so rough that they could scarcely be called human jutted out from the sides of the mound.

A hundred generations of Ailbes had been disinterred following the destruction of the first Coilmin, their bones and dust buried anew in the towering hillside along with their kin.

After thanking the wraiths for their charity in life and the spirits of the land for embracing them, Morygen stood up to remove the knotwork from the stone door and push it open.

It was her right as kin-by-blood.

She entered wordlessly as I followed in after replacing the knotwork and closing the door as kin-by-marriage.

It was best to leave the winter day to the wraiths and their memories.


	79. Homeward IV (Morygen PoV)

The tomb smelled sweet, like freshly grown flowers and newly-plucked fruit.

Lilac alba and heart-peaches tinted with mint.

Her nose idly separated the various essences of the odor as they descended the long stairs.

It made her smile.

The dead should not have to smell dust and rot until the end of time, one of the many things that she understood many within the greater humanity would find backwards.

She passed under an archway with a deferential bow of her head.

"Uncle," The smile shrunk as she regarded the chamber.

It was the custom in Gwyar for the barrows of nobility to dig the burrow deeper with each passing generation, for a lord to be granted a chamber while the spouse and children were each granted a room of their own.

The final resting place of Lord Antur was as grand as it was deep, three hours beneath the surface.

Three by eight Terran meters in dimensions and three in height.

The walls were a fine stonework overlaid onto the metal shell of the chamber.

Murals ran along the walls, images which recounted the life of the deceased so that they might recall themselves should time wear at their tired spirits.

The sarcophagus was built into the rear wall of the room, its surface a likeness in bronze.

"Wanted to see you," Morygen commented as she lowered the pack from her shoulder and sat down before the standing figure.

The warm light of lanterns cast shadows on his face, making him seem harsh.

"How is death?" She asked in poor humour as she unlatched the pack and retrieved the offerings. "Life is doing me well; would you believe that our house actually managed to survive? Forty thousand sons! Not too bad, I would say."

The decanter clinked as she set it down on the small stand that lay before the casket.

"I am not doing too poorly myself," She added while setting the small stack of coins on the other side of the table, each taken from a world she had visited in the years since last she saw him. "I am a bit of a lady in truth now, even managed to wrap my head around some of the basics of keeping the legion together. Father would be angry, I would say."

Can't tell him anyway, her father's remains had been among those which had been lost in the destruction of Coilmin.

She laid out the vellum portrait over the center of the table and stood up to bow before the shrine before sitting producing twin glasses and gently pouring the drink into it.

"Amasec from the palace of my father-by-law," She declared as she tipped one glass over the vellum. "Only technically stolen and all."

No one complained when she borrowed it from the vaults of the palace.

Granted, no one had seen her, but she liked to think that her shiny lord would have commented if he had issue.

She drank deep from her own glass after toasting her uncle.

It tasted fine enough.

Amasec did not especially suit her, it was elegant and refined and a complete reminder of how unsuited she was to those two words.

"Mead is better," It had a more honest taste. "But I figured you would like this better."

Her uncle had always had refined tastes, every inch the proper lord.

"If people were better," she observed while refilling the cups. "You would be alive still."

And if you had not supported us, she did not say. If you had not been a better brother than my father.

It was a childish thought, the world would have died beneath their feet if they had not done what they had done.

But he might have lived longer.

The thought lacked regret, regret was a sentiment she had never seen sense in.

It was just a reiteration of what she saw as truth.

"It is also true that you probably regretted it in the end," the smile faltered. "Not your death but…"

She shrugged.

He had been the last to die, I cannot begrudge him if his spirit wished me ill.

All that she needed to do was close her eyes and she could still see them.

The broken bodies scattered on the streets, limbs twisted in the wrong ways and gore cobwebbing from beneath cloaks.

"You deserved better," She admitted with a tired sigh. "A fine death in battle, that or drunk on your bed. Not to die because some fools believed that they knew the better and had the right to kill all that disagreed."

It was not lost on her that she had lost more friends and kin to the delusions of fools than the actions of the Voidspawn.

Old guard who stood in defense of their perceived rights and privileges.

Revolutionaries that wanted to burn all that came before.

Tribes that valued independence over survival and empires that perceived everything as a contest.

She wondered at the ignorance of her younger self, the one that believed so wholeheartedly in the cause of the Children. The one that believed all of the world's troubles could be fixed by beating back the void.

"I see now that you had the tougher battles," the admission did not really weigh on her. She was too exhausted to be bothered such things, her bones felt tired and her mind old. "Killing things and thinking about your next meal is much easier than facing the truths about us, than trying to steer our suicidal little race into survival."

She set three sticks of incense to honor the time since last she visited and lit them behind the liquor-soaked vellum.

"It's why I think I like my Father-By-Law," her chuckle was rueful. "He is using us, he might discard us, but he has seen the real face of humanity. He has seen the full scope of this cruel and beautiful world and he is aware of the sins that we must commit to move past it. Yet, he earnestly believes that there is an ending to the tale wherein humanity endures. He has the same sort of optimism as father, you would have liked him."

With that, she stood and ignited the vellum in fire, the smoke of incense and wine-soaked material adding something melancholic to the air.

Morygen looked fondly at the burning portrait of her uncle before picking up her pack and leaving him to his rest.

…

She found Galtine on the deepest level.

"How were they?" He asked from where he worked.

"They seemed well," she smiled, it would be an odd question outside of their world.

To most others, there was an element of using technology towards primitive goals and beliefs.

It was quite fortunate that they had not been invited to their home then.

"I am happy to know that," he smiled in the almost imperceptible way that made it genuine.

He was not kin-by-blood to her deceased family, so he was not himself allowed into their chambers.

"And my dear sister?" Morygen asked as she stepped in and shook off her now much-depleted pack.

"Subject has showed no signs of alteration," Stalwart Sapphire commented from the wrack upon which the god-sword had been placed. "Condition unaltered."

Ymer's tomb was the most unusual of the burrow, owing bit to its size and her relatively minor standing.

Her sister lay on a raised slab of ceramite, skin slick from the nutrient-slurry of her open casket.

It occurred to Morygen that she often forgot that her sister was a woman-grown when she was slain.

Fourteen years, three years older than Morygen had been when she wed Galtine.

It had a bit to do with her mate's efforts, the body scarcely seemed younger than nine or ten years old.

But it was mostly that Ymer had been her Ymer, the fragile and stubborn little girl that had been the same until the day she met end.

So, the young woman would always be a stranger. A long braid where a a tangled mane was supposed to be, scarred skin where the purity of youth should be and a peaceful expression rather than the caution that she had always worn in life.

"Did you tell her about Walwen?" Morygen asked as she settled down before the table with still-burning offerings.

"Yes," he admitted with apprehension as he worked over her with his swarm of constructs. "I wonder if she would be angry?"

"There is only one way to know beyond doubt," she reminded him.

"Not yet," he shook his head as he looked up from his work. "The body is theoretically perfect but…"

"The damage and degradation to the brain is too severe to revive," The AI supplied. "And your preference is to avoid replication."

That much went without saying.

What was the point if the soul was not the same?

They fell into silence after that.

It began as the cold quiet of disappointment and grief but it slowly gave way to an oddly comfortable silence.

In an admittedly weird way, there was an easy peace to trying to put their family back together, even if it was a futile endeavor.

"She would have approved," Morygen commented after a time. "Of Walwen."

The boy had been as clever, patient and reserved like his mother. He had defied them when they had denied him and passed through the trials of the Astartes despite his advanced age with no one but himself to rely on.

He was a good boy, she summarized.

"And what became of him?" Galtine asked questioningly with a hint of strain.

She tried not to think of that, of the sons in their quiet imprisonment by the Emperor's machinations.

But even then.

"She would have been proud of that as well," Morygen scratched her cheek. "That he protected his people and sacrificed himself to do it."

Galtine looked up to regard her with his silvery eyes, they were far more 'human' his brother's had been.

Which was why she could see the grief as he nodded, they had been together too long to need to waste words trying to communicate feelings that language failed to capture.

So they gingerly raised up her sister's body to return it to its container.

Nanites swarmed as they pulled plugs back into the corpse and arranged themselves around her body.

The layers of the sarcophagus pulled themselves shut with layers of hissing ceramite, adamantium and more esoteric metals while the casket pulled itself back into the wall with a gentle, sliding motion.

They finished their rituals quickly, cleansing the slab and offering an old cookbook and an Aeldari blade taken from a worthy warrior.

The wraiths were already descending as they themselves rose up.

Morygen knew that to the ignorant, they were nothing more than reprogrammed automata clad in heavy cloaks of knotwork and fitted with bronze-faced death masks.

She found that idea funny herself, that something could be without spirit or that trappings could not lend character to its soul.

The constructs cared for the dead, wore the symbols of the dead and dwelled within the places of the dead.

What else could they be but wraiths?

Honestly, it often felt as if the Mechanicum were the only ones with a remote grasp of things in the Imperium.

Then again, the ignorance of the world beyond also held that both she and her mate had no souls.

"Snow's getting heavier," She observed as she tightened her knotwork cloak after tying the door shut again.

"Well, Winter's Eye is better with snow," Galtine observed as they began their way back to the landing pad.

She chuckled at the mention of the old gift-giving festival.

It was a deflection, a distraction from the procession of the months to follow.

Each guild and battle would have to be honored amidst the errands that they wished to do before the fleet could return to the crusade.

Which was a polite way of saying that they would have to once again travel throughout their world, retracing the steps like fingers running over old scars.

Granted, it already felt less like a scar and more like a gaping wound.


	80. Homeward V

Ritual is important.

This was an unerring truth on Calengwag.

Ritual is a mark of honor.

For it was the right of those that had weathered Spring after Spring.

Ritual is good.

For by mimicking good, one became good.

Ritual is wise.

For it preserves the lessons of the past.

Ritual is sacred.

For to embrace it is to remember the nature of the Void.

Ritual is the bane of the Void.

That idea was found at the heart of nearly every single faith on Calengwag, the words varied, as did the structure and the reasoning. It was in no small part one of the factors that had promoted so much bloodshed as factions differed between stagnation and twisting tradition into a justification for their gluttony or a caricature to be fought by the angry.

But it was always coached in the language of ritual.

And ritual demanded that my first act upon arrival in Wygalois was to present myself at the Guild Hearth.

So, I stood patiently beneath the dome of the hearth, standing before the statuary that decorated the interior.

It was one of the newer ones, a woman carved from dark marble and filigreed in silver.

"It is a good likeness," I commented as the grinding steps I had heard behind me almost reached my side.

"Would it surprise you to learn that I recall her entry into the guild?" I had first met him twenty-three years past and he was now ancient by the standards of Calengwag at sixty. His thin face had become narrow in a fashion not dissimilar to a crow, frown lines and wrinkles had merged with leathery hide to give him a craggy and almost corpse-like complexion. His once proud spine had bent with age and his silvery plate whined with powered joints beneath a fine silver tabard and a heavy cloak of silver and dragon-hide knotwork. The overall image reminded me of an anthropomorphic raven. "She was quite fond of starring at past heroes."

"Not at all, Regent-Master," I shrugged.

It had not been a lie, it was good likeness. Pale diamonds were reminiscent of the ice blue that Morygen Aigred had borne in life and even without its hazel coloring, her short military mane seemed as accurate as the hard look on her face.

"Her and your sire-by-law," He admitted in his wheezing voice. "Ambitious rabble to my eye but good silver."

"What changed your assessment?" It was an old conversation really but one we had fallen into the habit of repeating.

"Nothing," The former Sect-Master grunted, black eyes fixed on the statue. "Leode died trying to upturn the old way and Morygen died knowing that she succeeded."

My beloved's namesake had met her end during the first of the Seeker Wars, burned on the pyre by the Leanan. It had been intended to be a mockery of the moniker 'Eyes-Like-Ice' which she had earned in the War of Terror.

It took some effort to swallow back the memories of that first defeat.

"And you?" I asked. I could respect that the old man loathed me, I had even more respect for his refusal to take anything more than the most basic of rejuv treatments.

"I?" The old raven raised a sharp brow. "I have no more ambition than to see the guild survive as it always has, to see more young fools enter through those doors and know that the Void has gained a new foe. As it has always been."

"Even if that survival comes through allegiance to an up jumped Seeker who neglected the proper course of things?" I still thought it was a bit unfair that I had been labeled so in my early days, but I had made my peace with that.

"Must you prod at old wounds?" The old man ground his teeth. "Ritual and tradition, those are what matter. That some had fallen by the wayside? This I grant you. That urgency was needed? This as well. That does not mean that I must forgive the losses brought about by your actions. This business of forgetting the Void to fight its symptoms, it appalls me as it ever has."

"Yet that too is as old time," I pointed out without force.

"As it may be," The old man shrugged. "It is perhaps best that I will not long outlive my era."

Neither of us were really putting ourselves into the debate.

We had fought alongside each other, bickered relentlessly and had seen no few numbers of our fellows die.

In a way, even that shallow parody of our old argument was a way of reliving the past.

Neither of us spoke for a time, not in silence for the Hearth was never truly empty and young Seekers entered and left as they debated prices, talked and planned in their hundreds around us. No small number of them had also taken to gawking at the two figures they had been raised with tales of behind our Astartes guards.

"As the case may be," I rolled my shoulders. "Galtine Ailbe, Seven-Fold as the Guilds I hold by way of my Justice, Charitable by the Nature of my Oath. Lord in this War Eternal."

"Snechta Igre," The former-Sect-Master nodded. "Silver is my Regency by Justice, Humble by the nature of my Oath. Seneschal in this War Eternal. I welcome you to share my Hearth, Grandmaster."

"Then may we find profit," I finished the greeting ritual. "I confess that I am surprised you came."

Igre had been the obvious choice to appoint as the Regent-Master of the Silver Guild after my appointment to Guildmaster. It was an administrative post which directly saw to the bureaucratic structuring of the Seekers and the Hearths and had transitioned into something akin to a regional command and recruitment position under the Imperium.

For all his blithe disdain for the changes of the era, the old raven had and still did drive the change as the principle overlord of all lands beneath the sway of Silver. More if one accounted for his influence over the Regent-Masters.

Which meant that it would be difficult and needless for him to move from his seat at Argentum.

The old man considered for a moment before speaking, "For much the same reason as we do most things, I think. There is something comforting in repetition, I once 'welcome' you hear if my recollections have yet to be claimed by time."

There was something amused in the way he said 'welcome' and I effected a laugh in response.

"I believe that I had been seeking to avoid her assassination," I commented while looking to the likeness of my long-dead friend.

"Before running off to recruit said cut-throats?" The old man meshed his fingers. "Their being so visible is but one of the many things I had quite hoped to not live to see."

"Mayhaps," I shrugged. "And the actual reason for your presence?"

The Regent-Master was not a creature to indulge in reminiscence for their own sake.

A fact confirmed by the humorless smile he gave.

"I have had word from Terra," He said plainly.

That made me frown, the nature of the Crusade made word at times difficult among the roving fleets and the Fear Gorta agents had more reliable communication with Calengwag and their council than they did with the fleet itself.

That they would give word to the Regent-Master…

"Oh, this will be lovely," I feign a smile.

…

So it was that my procession had to be delayed, a change that was worked into something akin to a flattering statement by a reinterpretation of the truth.

And no sooner than a week later, a ship had entered the system.

One and then another and yet another.

Until a small fleet of fifteen vessels were in the system and being targeted by the combined forces of three Prydwen-Class Starforts, their accompanying support fleets and the full force of an Astartes Legion.

Had they not borne the ident codes of the highest orders, they would have been turned into something less than dust by Mendicant Onyx.

But they did.

More precisely, they carried the order of the Master of Mankind.

So they were allowed into the system.

To swim past dead worlds, hungry fleets of scavengers and Seeker warbands on their way to harvest what could be taken from the corpses of the past.

They moved past the Starforts which were so grotesque in size and foreign in configuration as to make the name difficult to encapsulate.

Until they came anchor in the enormous port-arms of the Scarred Lady where we awaited them.

"Here come the kill joys," Morygen breathed beside me, a smile on her lips as she adjusted the sleeve of her gown.

It was a touch pointed and meant to highlight their intrusion but the gathered Guildmasters, Sect-Masters and ranking members of the Round awaited in garb befitting a ranking official rather than the armor of war.

Only the hundred Seekers of our honor guard awaited in their war panoply, along with the Custodians of the Legates Imperator.

"Do you have a qualm with the Knight Commander, Lady Morygen?" Fabius spoke up, garnering interested looks for his efforts. The man was not prone to voicing opinions.

"I find them to be horrible company," She shrugged beneath her heavy cloak.

"And they are to join the procession," Morien observed while idly adjusting his sheer robes and managing to not rustle his multitude of feat-pearls in the process. "So, it is best to hope for the best, yes?"

Dinada seemed like he was about to berate the cheerful Master of Pearl when the doors slid open to allow the visiting party in.

They unsurprisingly filled in like ghosts beneath the stamp of steel sabatons.

They were as I had expected, with unblinking eyes and heads shaved save for crimson topknots. They did not bother to hide their arms and armor, seeming to take pride in their gear as if it were part of their flesh in a manner not unlike the Luna Wolves.

But what really identified them to us was the bleak cast they had about them.

It was not an aura of null power, like what most took as important about them, that was common enough to be seen infrequently by all present at most.

It was the dogged antagonism that they radiated despite their carefully neutral expressions.

I could all but feel Morygen's ire beside me and I did not fault her for it.

"Knight-Commander Jenetia Krole," I smiled as I stepped forwards. "A most unexpected surprise."

The woman at the lead of the delegation had an especially cold look, not really a look of disdain or antipathy, just the severity which Morygen had compared to a noble lady that had just seen someone nearby use the wrong utensil.

Granted, she had banished more voidspawn than everyone present put together, so she did command a certain degree of respect as a consequence.

She nodded tersely before a young initiate walked to her side, a girl of no more than a eight years in age.

"We are honored by your greeting, Lord Galtine," She interpreted in a calm and practiced voice while Krole issued her signs. I suppose that the formality was to be appreciated but a part of me idly wondered if it was not well-known that everyone present was fluent in Thought and Battle Marks (my creator had never forbidden us from spreading the language). "We hope that our arrival has not induced any unwelcome disruption."

"Far from it. It is an honor to welcome another visit from the finest Voidbanes beyond Calengwag," I tried to keep my tone neutral on the final words, I did not mean offense to the talents of the sisters and I was unwilling to understate the skill of my own.

The Knight Commander signed impassively again while the younger nodded, "Words taken as high praise given what I have heard of your Seekers. A view shared by the Emperor, Beloved by All. And the reason for our presence here."

"Of course," I smiled. "I have heard tell of an edict."


	81. Homeward VI

_Galtine,_

 _I begin this with three apologies, none of which are directed to what you have discovered in your blood. I have and will presume upon you as is my right, just as you have and will presume upon me as your creator. Such is the nature of our bond._

 _It was not so long ago that we spoke last, but I say this while acknowledging that mortal time can be difficult. A moment so easily becomes an age, a perspective that I am aware is not shared by even those with whom I share a proximity of kinship._

 _There is a certain satisfaction in not knowing whether this will come as a surprise to you, an admission to a flaw even if it is not one I am ashamed of. It is a result of how I have chosen to live my long life and that life has provided far too many advantages for any apology to that end to be genuine._

 _Which leads rather well to my begging pardon for the fact that this missive will only be clear within my ability to be so. Ink is like word, embedded with what I am so as to be the truth desired by the reader, which has long given me license to be unfocused and perhaps overly verbose in text where I am reserved in word._

 _My next apology will be to your own mate for she might reason that I have given her a poisoned gift or that I had some deceit conceived to better utilize her to my purpose before I stepped foot on your world. This is not to be given as an apology for the result nor a defense of mine own self. I might well have undertaken such steps but I had not previously accounted for her presence, what she carries are gifts intended for what you might have been._

 _It was deliberate on my part to leave you incomplete, for I was uncertain whether you might catalyze and deemed it better to not introduce more competing variables than necessary. Upon meeting your mate, I was inspired to make an alteration to the plan I had earlier conceived and to confirm the approval you had spoken of in concern._

 _What has been done is and was always meant to be a gift, the Imbibed Sanguine which would have confirmed you instead cementing the bond between you._

 _My apology arises from my perception that you might no longer see it for what it is or the possibility that I myself did not account for the intent being perceived as malevolent._

 _I do not extend such an apology to you on the grounds of this._

 _This is a piece of what you are and what you are meant to be, that of myself which I spun your soul from and intermeshed with the simulacrum of a memory. I can no more offer you an apology for this than another creator might offer recompense for a disadvantaged physical characteristic._

 _I have come to know of a most charming if somewhat misguided belief among the Crusade. That you and all of your brothers are an alchemy, each a differing balance of my humors and the pieces of what I am. Although it is the grossest of simplification, I would say that that is not wholly mistaken in that each of you is akin to a facet of something in me I view with pride and a facet I view with shame._

 _Take your brother, if you wish to use the term. Horus is what I was to men, when I allowed myself to be free of the greater view and delved into comradery and the simplicity of having a foe of flesh before me. He is also my fear of failure, for whatever the risks, there is nothing so dreadful as a king without fear._

 _You are also a mixture, the only piece of me that could truly mesh with the frail imprint of mortality and the flaying of the Pariah._

 _In you there is my resignation, my impotence, my loss and my inability to accept them. You are the piece of me that fully grasps the scale of what we must do, the memory of the horror that ebbs at the shores of my certainty. You are my acceptance of the necessity for what I hold dear to perish, the tacit awareness that no aegis I erect will ever be without flaw. The part of my that recalls that this fact will bleed humanity, to add more souls to the cacophony asking why I could not do better._

 _That is what will befall your sons, for that is your 'flaw' as you might perceive it. The curse of never forgetting those who have been felled even as you become more unlike them._

 _Yet, you will find your sons to see this as a gift._

 _And it is the inability to be reviled at this fact that I must truly beg forgiveness for. I could not make you hate them and I could not make you turn away from them. Others will carry a necessary loathing for me as befits their natures and a disgust for other facts. But you cannot hate what you are._

 _For I do not._

 _I am grateful for these things._

 _A god does not know defeat._

 _A god does not know resignation._

 _A god is not haunted._

 _A god does not regret._

 _For as long as I am these things, I am no god._

 _These things are my mortality._

 _And that is what you carry in greatest portion, my mortality forged into a dagger. A weapon which knows and accepts its purpose and melded with the clarity to know when it is best used._

 _I could not help but find your name and epitaph fitting._

 _Galtine, the Retaliator._

 _A fine encapsulation._

 _Even as I write this short and admittedly inadequate message, I reflect on how well it illustrates my shortcomings. It is cold, self-indulgent, arrogant and not no small part manipulative._

 _In all other things, I have freed you to level judgement upon me and your peers. For it is fitting that in what of me is mortal, we should see that which we would be easy to renounce._

 _I will take the result of this Edict as your answer to this missive._

…

"What a prick," Morygen muttered as she finished reading the missive aloud before setting down the parchment and stretching over the couch to glare at me.

"Correct," I nodded while operating an esoteric equivalent of a high-potency coffee (not recaf) machine.

Our inner chambers in the Great Hearth were as disappointing as those on the Avalon, nothing but essentials and comforts escalated to fit our mutually inhuman dimensions.

"Why am I impressed?" She asked while hanging over the stone-shaped couch and scratching her cheek. "At this point, I am tempted to shrug and say 'because the Emperor' but that feels a bit much."

"It really would be," I nodded.

The Knight-Commander had delivered the sealed parchment along with the much more public edict and we had not read the thing until we had escaped to privacy.

"He more or less admitted to you being the most singularly unimpressive bits and using me as a correction," The red maned Seeker commented while puffing her lengthening locks out of her eyes with a breath. "As if telling us to help recolonize a Deathworld and breaking up our sons was not enough of a…"

She trailed off while waving while shaking a fist at the ceiling and glaring up at it as if my Creator might somehow be hearing her.

"His writing certainly lacks some gravitas," I admitted while pouring two cups. "It does wonders to clarify why he makes Pointy-Staff Doom-Man go when he cannot."

Morygen laughed at that and accepted a cup with a smile.

"Petty mockery aside," I quipped gently while sitting beside her and letting her use me as a pillow. "What should we do?"

The edict was an odd one.

We had the right to deny it.

That had been an amusing surprise to Krole when she had unsealed it to read it aloud.

But it was a mute one.

"You know what we are going to do," She grunted while sipping her coffee. "We are going to accept and do it with a winning smile as if this was not just formalizing what we thought we had some decades to prepare for."

She had a point and I might have been a touch ashamed that some vestigial part of me desperately and futilely wanted to rail against it.

The Emperor wanted the Legion to splinter.

Not into the dedicated detachments ahead of their own fleets as was the custom for the other legions.

He very explicitly demanded that three of the War Guilds be dispersed at all times as rapid-response forces to cauterize any potential wounds the Imperial Truth might suffer as a consequence of the Void's machinations.

Material and information would be prioritized to the legion as a consequence and it was relatively open-ended but it was still a problem.

It would mean that my sons would be fully devoted to cleaning up other people's messes for eternity and that our legion would not be able to muster in full.

"There are benefits," Morygen mused. "We would get priority in some of the neater things that you have told me about and it would certainly make tracking the others easier. Although I have no idea in how by all of the Stars we will manage to get anyone to go the most depressing star in the galaxy."

The second part of the decree revolved around the Pariah Gene.

That meddlesome gene which marked Calengwag as rare-unto-unique.

That gene which befuddled all save my maker and the ancient researchers of Calengwag (which he like-as-not numbered among) and was supposedly incompatible with Astartes due to the more esoteric components of the gene-seed.

"Well, we are all oath-bound to Him," I said with not small amount of annoyance by my standard. "I am sure that the ruling bodies will come up with ways to make 9-13 palatable."

The supposedly inexistent recruitment world of the Sisters of Silence was among the cardinal reasons for my beloved's antipathy towards the Anathema Psykana.

It was excusable for Blanks grown in isolation to harbor resentment towards the greater humanity.

She seemed much less willing to forgive those that had no just excuse for their world being a monstrous, haunted hive with no one to blame but themselves for their barbarism. Calengwag at its worst had not been reduced to that and they had to deal with the active threat of their world being Void-Tainted.

Being asked to help resettle and stabilize it to bolster the Sisters did not especially appeal to her.

"I guess it would give us an excuse to make them at least look different," She quipped.

I sighed at that, "That is a touch unfair."

"So is this situation," She rebutted. "And so was charging our sons with persuading their rulers that we are not in fact trying to steal their sons and daughters for some elaborate cloning program."

I resisted the urge to point out that cloning the Pariah Gene tended to have uncertain results and instead opted to muse as to the reasoning for the statement.

It was not the first time I was amused by the sheer oddity of the choices of the early settlers of Calengwag. Where most worlds of humanity tended to have been seeded by one ancestral group which in turn splintered into varying cultures, Calengwag had been founded by an eclectic group of settlers trying to deliberately unified identity.

It rather took the wonder out of the whole affair to translate Hollowborn to the mutated descendants of a coalition of what were essentially predominantly Irish, Indian, Japanese and Nigerian colonials obsessively trying to construct an idealized society through an obsessive fixation on Arthurian Mythology and notions of chivalry with a penchant for messing with Gene-dominance.

Aside from the commonality of 'odd' configurations, other populations in the galaxy tended to look a touch odd to the people of my adopted home.

Which sounded much better than inbred and utterly lacking in contrast as the less politic might have said.

It was a touch ignorant, but I did not mind it.

Those fools had given me Morygen after all.

"You know I do not like it when you do that," She grumbled while reaching up to flick my nose. "He should have included an apology about only appreciating me when I am annoyed."

"Oh?" I quirked a brow. "Would that not just mean that I would do so constantly."

I made a mental note that it was my own fault that he jabs were so well-practiced.


	82. Homeward VII

Wygalois had grown in the close to thirty Calengwag years since we had first come to the city.

Prosperity, growth and fame had drawn more souls to the capital of my homeland and new secrets had encouraged a growing population that would have deformed it were it not for Beneficent Silver's caring oversight.

The triangular, towering and overgrown five districts which had once been the city in its entirety had flowed outwards like a melting candle. Old spires had been disassembled while districts were assembled beyond, homes and commerce sites grew along with estates that were themselves shadowed by fortifications and transport systems.

The countryside had not been consumed by the growth in the strictest sense, the Fallen had a taste for the interplay between baroque and natural aesthetics which had resulted in Silver intertwining much of the countryside into the steel and stone of the growing city.

Our procession began at the edge of the city as was traditional for a Guildhost.

Seekers marched in formation beneath hovering stands sitting thousands as they rained flower pedals on the parties as they were cloaked in flowing capes bearing the silver-threaded brand of the guild, modified with the feat-markings. Each was garbed in the approximate uniforms of the guild fleet, elaborately worked with the appropriate thread of the Guild and intermixed with patterns speaking of their own status and lineage.

Oathmasters marched before each contingent of their oathsworn men and women, clad in masterfully crafted armor and mounted with the twin staves that suspended the knotwork banners of their guild and Sect-Master's carried the grandest standards as they marched before roving daises loaded with spoils claimed from fallen worlds.

In front of the Seekers marched the House Ailbe, which was to say the nearly six thousand Astartes that composed the Silver Guild. Much like their mortal counterparts, they bore no armor and instead favored cloaks marked with the Guild brand imposed on the bronze sun of Ailbe over uniforms. Like their mortal counterparts, their garb was also worked with marks of lineage. Only the Oathmasters and Sect-Masters carried the warplate of their legion, heads barred and hands wrapped around banners and eyes fixed forwards.

Morygen and I walked before our kin, armored and dressed as honor demanded.

She bore the golden tears under her eyes and like me her mane was pulled into an elaborate sun-shaped broach and gems signifying each of the seven guilds were woven into her hair. Our ears were bitten with rune-etched ring bands and heavy knotwork belts wrapped our hips.

Most important were the opposite banners, Morygen held the Silver banner which was a thing as ancient as it was esoteric in meaning and form, thousands of patterns lined the constantly replaced cords of leather, cloth and silver chain that composed its form. My own banner was of much newer make, no more complex that the seven interlocking brands of the war guilds surmounted by the Ailbe Sun and embraced in the wings of a twin-headed eagle to represent the legion in its entirety.

Now it must be said that the ceremony was not completely untouched by Imperial presence.

The traditional ornaments were well in attendance, but I found it heartening to Aquilla drawn over painted tears, Imperial ident codes were drawn in stylistic interpretations onto finely woven knotwork, a hundred little signs of embracing their new role.

But it was small, and I suspected that it always would be.

This was a ritual of Calengwag, a ritual of Hiber'Cale.

My sons and our Seeker Oath-Brothers were not present as Astartes and Imperial Army. They dressed and acted as Seekers have since days immemorial, my children were granted their place by virtue of their descent from me and marched directly behind me as was long the right of a master's kin.

These were not in truth an Imperial force holding a military parade, these were Seekers mustering to present themselves as the strength of their Guildmaster as he presented himself to a key ruler.

If one needed proof of the character of the procession, they just needed to listen to the music which underlined the cheering throngs above below and alongside the elevated roads.

Rich chants and the pounding of leather filled the air along with the blaring of brass.

There sources were the priests. Dozens of bands had been called together from a number of temples had been mustered, donning ancient regalia and painting themselves in white, red and black to symbolize ancient myths.

That gave me some humor.

To explain, it humored me because I was not alone with Morygen at the front of the delegation.

Our right was held by Legates Imperator, the weeping eye banner held aloft by Fabius while his Custodes brothers flanked him. They had been persuaded to accept gold-wrapped cloaks of crimson knotwork leather harvested from the Siege-Bear Death-In-Shadow, slain by the southern armies as a gift for the Emperor's favored guardians.

They hid their distaste rather well, all things considered.

Much less successful were the party to my left.

Knight-Commander Krole marched with four of her Oblivion Knights who were doing their level best to not look at their surroundings and a pair of initiates behind them.

To be fair, their leader had the default expression of someone who would look with the same mild disdain at an incoming cyclone torpedo, the legions of the Void and an unpleasant meal.

Her sisters were doing a less admirable effort. There was a tension in their movement and the mild wrinkling of the nose that suggested disgust while their eyes scanned their surroundings suspiciously. To say nothing of the scent and taste of their aggravation and the predatory beat of their hearts.

Morygen probably sensed the same thing given the half-heartedly repressed amusement on her face.

In fairness, they supposedly wanted our people. Did they expect that they would be able to merely take our flesh and blood without the people that came attached?

If they wanted blank slates that had to be programmed for the most basic things, they could go beg at Malcador's door for the dubious honor of having to create a thousand faulty clones for every functional assassin he was able to produce.

…

I supposed that to an outsider, it would seem disrespectful for a mortal king to not come to greet a Primarch.

The trouble was that Gwyar did not work that way.

A Seeker was not a noble, so as a Seeker, I was not a noble. Therefore, I could enter and leave the city as I wished without a prerequisite waiting ritual before my appointed gate as we are unbound. But therefore, I was no supporter of the King, so I he did not owe me the honor of a greeting at the gate as a host.

I was of noble stock by oath, law and marriage. Even if I remained unbound, those of my kin could not enter the city through another gate without spitting on all who came before me and renouncing House Ailbe.

My rank was above Oath-Master, so I was obligated to be honorably present myself to king at his earliest convenience as was proper. As Guildmaster, the king was in turn obligated to grant me audience before the end of the day of my arrival even as I was expected to present a proof of my own legitimacy. By doing this I showed that we understood and respected each other's time and more importantly showed that neither was asking the other to commit to false pretenses.

In turn, the king was expected to prove Gwyar's place as a Winter Court by mustering proof of its age and prestige. Which was the reason for the towering war automata that lined that walkways along with the armored forms of the armored Sapphire Guard and the aerial vehicles that flew in formations along the heavens. A guarantee of our safety both politically and militarily.

There were more minute systems at play which had narrowed circumstances to the time, designs of the formations and a hundred other permutations occurring which would be missed by outsiders.

So, the king was not being disrespectful to a Primarch and I was not being indulging.

We both had our roles to play.

The procession came to a halt a number of times before the appointed points, among these being the joining of the Regent-Master Igre took his place in the procession, the ancient raven carrying the banner aloft despite his age. Other stops had meanings of rank, memorial and symbolism which could fill tomes on their own but were ultimately inconsequential to outsiders.

A blind man could see the mounting irritation of the Sisters as the hours grinded on, until we had passed the inner gates of castle Wygalois as the last of the nobility concluded their rituals of entry and the Guild came to a stop before the cyclopean gate.

"Hardly Terra," I mused as we waited before the grand gate. "But everyone has their customs."

"Some would say that your people run dangerous close to transgressing against the Truth," Fabius commented, the philosopher-warrior putting no inflection in his tone.

It was not the first time that I was pleased my Creator did not assign me a Diocletian or an Aquillon.

"You are right, Fabi," Her finger rubbed the banner as she could hardly indulge in her habit. "Why, I do fear that we might be… religious."

She lowered her voice in dramatic horror.

The Custodian turned his head minutely to face her, "I fear that I shall have to turn over my helm to my armorers, I fear that my helm augur systems are failing. Terminus, do you sense a similar issue?"

"Yes, Shield-Captain," Another of the five nodded. "I fear that I can no longer detect taunting."

"I suggest the fault may lay in overexposure," Phoebe added in with a begrudging tone.

"Careful," Morygen clicked her tongue. "People will think you have personalities in there."

"Mayhaps you have merely misplaced your excess of Sanguine," Fabius rebutted.

I wondered if my father had planned for that, giving me a quiet thinker with just a touch of humor along with four nuts for Morygen to crack.

Pride might be a flaw of mine, but I could admit that I had been mistaken in summarizing the other Legates Imperator as bricks.

Not that I would ever tell them that of course.

"Oh my, that's where you are," Morygen turned to regard the Custodes in mock surprise. "I had always assumed that you were just a piece of furniture."

"I am surprised that you held still long enough to notice, my lady," I suspected that Fabius was not alone in having come to some ability in our tongue.

"Well that is just unkind," Morygen sniffed indignantly.

"Truly," I breathed. "We are such a refined and noble company."

My beloved reacted by sticking her tongue out at me.

"Truly," I repeated wile effecting a dry look.

"Dignity is a difficult thing," Anahit spoke. "I earned two names against rodents, I am still unsure if others would perceive that as honorable."

"Vermin?" I asked in mild curiosity.

"A subterranean conflict in the Unification Wars," Fabius supplied. "It is not spoken of often, but the Warren-Lords were known to ride mutated rats. It is not spoken of often given the unfortunate connotations."

"You will enjoy Coin, Legates Anahit," I offered the Custodian a smile. "They are know for their rodents of unusual size, they might even find you more impressive for it."

The quietest of the Legates made a sound disturbingly close to humor.

I wondered what he and the Guildmaster of Emerald did in their time together, like as not it was exchanging cryptic commentary interspaced with long silences.

The conversation faded as the great gates came open once more and the march resumed.

I did not notice at the time that I sucked in a breath as I starred at the ruined giant behind the throne.

There was always something uncomfortable about speaking with a man that you had unwittingly orphaned.


	83. Homeward VIII

It was difficult to stay in the present when looking ahead.

I recalled the scent first.

 _The void always smelled like flesh cooked wrong, spiced with something evil and drenched in filth. With it was the much more natural tang of mortal sweat and the blood which poured the churned mud and debris below as daemon and man alike were ground under feet by mutually desperate forces, seeking to climb over each other to reach their objective._

 _The wind had tasted like ash that day, the charnel scent of burning flesh intermixed with the firestorms that had burned the once great forests to the black fields beneath the feet of the combatants. The Voidspawn had been legion, too many to maintain a proper formation as the army had broken into spheres of blades like rocks against a river tide._

 _A grey hellscape that reached even the heavens as the entire migratory fleet of the Iolair Muruchan warred above us against hordes of winged monsters, burning ships, disintegrating devil-flesh and stray missiles crashed against the fields to punctuate the roars the men, beasts, monsters and daemons that tried to destroy each other in a pandemonium of violence._

 _All was for what lay before us, to advance towards the horizon-spanning pyramid we pushed, ripping at the seams in sickly grey light as if it were peeking through an opening door._

 _We all knew that it needed to be stopped but that had been beyond me._

 _There had only been the desperate need to survive, swimming across the fields and killing with each step, each breath, from blade-shell to blade-shell. Every sense I had in my body was pushed to its inhuman limit by the endless tide, abandoned by Merlin as the constructs took my blood to bolster the allies that stuck to my anchor lest they be ripped apart by the hours of turmoil._

 _Relief had only come with the bellowing cries of the charge that broke the into the enemy, at their head the white-bladed king._

I blinked away the memories in favor of the present.

The throne room had remained largely unchanged compared to the city beyond, still crowded by the multitudes of nobility, priests, officials and now journalists.

The only changes were those who sat on the thrones.

The gancean monarch seemed to be trying to resist the urge to fidget as we walked towards the throne. Finely dressed in a gown which while flattering, seemed a touch oversized on the king's petite frame, that he was clearly glancing nervously at the greater throne behind him was worrying.

King Gaera III was named for his great grandfather but he lacked the idealic nature of his forefather.

The youth of nine had come to the title early and it showed from the discomfort of the young female atop the highest seat of the many-tiered throne.

Princess Gaera had been to my understanding a promising girl, bright and relatively well-suited to rule even if her father had problematically failed to produce more children before his death a year prior.

But she had been soft, impious, untested in war or trade and worst of all, sorely lacking an heir.

Things that could be rectified in a young princess were a problem in a king.

But her father had died too early and Princess Gaera had become King Gaera III. Becoming a man be custom just as one of the sons of the nobility would eventually become his queen.

It was likely an odd notion to outsiders, one easily misconstrued as bigoted or backwards. But it was the way of things in Gwyar and incojsequential beside his insecure bloodline and lack of knighthood.

While a tiara made a facsimile of horns wrapped in chains, Gaera was unaugmented. He did not have the links to his ancestral past his predecessors had, no gestalt memory inscribing the prowess and martial character of the Immram.

Something friend and foe alike would well know.

Which left me to deal with a ruler who was uncomfortable with both his station and legacy.

We came to a stop before the throne and behaved as was expected for our stations in our capacity as Seekers.

Banners against the right shoulder, angled against a hand lain over the heart while those of lesser rank dipped into a sustained half-bow.

Neither the Sisters nor the Custodians bowed but they were direct retainers of the king's liege lord so that was to be expected.

The twin priests began their benedictions, but I ignored them, not out of malice…

It was just difficult to focus.

The Immram loomed like a legacy over the proceedings.

 _The knight stood tall over the battlefield, striking down monster after monster, their cyber-daemonic roars ripped out of them as the titanic sword gutted them with contemptuous ease. The rich panels on its armor ran grey with the blood of void-tainted machines as it led an armored phalanx into the maelstrom of violence._

 _"You are late!" I heard Morygen roar over the vox with a mix of grim humor and relief in her voice._

 _"A king is never late," The machine-distorted voice of the Last Knight said between strain and humor as it ripped open the bowels of a great borrowing machine, spilling the bones and degraded flesh of the ancients onto the field in a nauseating torrent. "He is always on time."_

 _"Agitation! Humor if survival is granted!" Merlin growled and hissed in his quartet voices. "Warning! The Authority is verging on systemic collapse! Manifestation imminent!"_

 _"The god is right!" Dinada hissed over the vox, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Reinforcements or not, we need to end this soon!"_

 _They not wrong, even with the return of the war hosts and the full-force of five migratory fleets, things were not looking up._

 _There was a welling fear, yes fear, that we would fail as we reach towards the cracking edifice just a few hundred meters away._

 _"We are not even in the Ruin," Trystane laughed manically from my side as he cut the throat of something which I could not identify. "Unless they put the generator by the door, we are not going to get there in time."_

 _Any response I had died on my lips as something rose throw the grey cracks on the temple._

 _Claws were latching onto the edges of the light and pushed as if opening a door._

I could still see the scars of those claws on the reposing ruin that had once been a Knight Titan.

"-And so it is our honor to greet the Galtine as he returns to us from the stars in service to our common lord," the youth on the throne was finishing his welcoming address as I once more shifted the bulk of my focus to the present. "And humbly request that the banner of our Emperor is given its rightful place."

That was scripted of course, so the Legates Imperator knew what to do.

The golden warriors ascended the steps of the throne, passing the royal family and priests and the king himself to hold the Emperor's banner above the proceedings.

I quietly let out an imperceptible breath of relief that the speech was delivered soundly.

The king had a good speaking voice at least.

"It is our honor to hear your tidings, Grandmaster," The king smiled with an open-armed nod before resuming her seat and opening a hand to concede the floor. "Tell us of the Starpoints gathered against the Void."

The monitors switched to us as I bowed my head.

"Your grace, oath-kin Hiber'Cale," I began. "Since last I stood in the shadow of Immram, Silver has in glory participated in the binding of some ninety worlds. Seventeen-fold accursed plagues of ill-faith have been purified by destruction and foes who are neither kin nor foe have been vanquished beneath our arms."

Rounding down was traditional after all.

My words were accompanied by the movement of Seekers as they approached their troves and lifted proof of their deeds for the hidden projectors to broadcast.

"And the names of these foes? The places of your feats?" The king asked with a thoughtful look in hazel eyes.

Morygen cleared her throat and began listing the worlds and battles which had come in a mere five years, in addition to the disposition and identity of the foes.

While she did so, my eyes drifted to the noble seats.

I could see the House Ailbe in attendance.

Morygen had opted to speak with them on her own once I departed to oversee the remaining celebrations, but I still felt some ire that they had thought to show their faces, to profit from ties to our blood.

She had more right to the matter when it came down to it and more practically, I was obligated to travel east before the next sunrise.

"Most impressive," The King of Gwyar complimented some time later when Morygen finished her recounting. "Such glory does honor to all of our people, but we are most endeared in the vindication of our forefather's oath-brotherhood, he surely looks with approval on the actions of his dear friends."

I refrained from a grimace at the obvious filial piety. There was nothing wrong with the concept, but a blind man could see that he was trying to boost his position by reminding my ties with his ancestor.

It was comforting.

 _The knight charged the behemoth without a moment of hesitation._

 _It would be called the Maw of the Void in future years, but we had no name for it then._

 _There was nothing to it but 'abomination', a titanic construct of sublime construction fused with inhuman flesh, winged with the bleeding wounds its passage drew from reality._

 _Its roars were the death of worlds and lesser spawn and human alike perished beneath its miasma._

 _And it its heart was the foulest of impossibilities, the pinnacle of the depravities that had cast down the Fallen._

 _Against such a beast, the knight moved as if it were merely another foe. Ancient technologies fueled by Blank-blood pushed away the twisted abomination's aura while the other war machines and bio-beasts charged behind it._

 _There had been no final words or goodbyes, all that the surviving Seekers could do was raise our weapons in salute of the dead men as they sought to wipe away the taint that had so long haunted our world._

"It is I who would speak with honor still of the Immram," I smiled much more genuinely than I had thought I would. There had been a sick realization that all of the ghosts that haunted me were already fading from living memory, that the sacrifices of my kith and kin were already being cast aside in favor of more recent honors.

The line of Gaerys should feel no need to claim a part in my victories, his should be eternal.

It was good that his name continued, it was good that we stood in the shadow of his armor.

Who they were might have been forgotten in the specifics but at least they lived on as symbols of power and in traditions.

As long as the Immram sat there, as long as I lived.

Gaerys would not be dead.

"And it is honor of my dear brother-by-oath and your father's oaths to our shared lord that I bring you his command," I said with due gravity, the king had been briefed of course as had all other rulers on the planet.

"If his supreme grace and Anathema to the Void has commands for us his humble servants," The king spread his arms. "And he presents them through the Galtine Incarnate, we may only inquire what he would ask of his faithful servants."

Proper deference there.

Which had to be met with equal magnanimity.

So I reverently produced the gold-threaded scroll from my armor and unrolled it to present the imperial seals before the throne and projectors.

"My Lord father-by-blood, Master of Mankind and Chief Foe of the Void, presents a hard gift. He speaks of his Talons, his Voidbane knights," I indicated with a hand at the Sisters of Silence. "Only one world in the Imperium boasts the gifts of our blood, a hard home known as 9-13."

"He sends the mightiest of his knights in person," Morygen continued with a nod to the Knight-Commander who looked like she was waiting in line at a deli to my own annoyance. "To plead the case of that world, for it is a place fallen in folk and means."

I could scent the signs of annoyance among the Oblivion Knights at that comparison. It was fortunate that the elder Sisters had exceptional restraint so no one else noticed their irritation.

"His Imperial Majesty would have the blood of Calengwag flow as one with their own, for these noble knights to be renewed and for their ways to be as one with ours," I said with a hand raised to the Immram.

The wording of the Edict did not precisely say that but it was formal and vague enough to be incredibly respectful and befitting the situation.

"We are requested to give of our flesh?" The king asked with a thoughtful expression that for a moment reminded me of his forefather.

"He would grant the wealth and resources needed to resettle the world," Morygen responded. "A gift for those willing to brave the dangers of a new world, yet wild and untamed."

The king nodded and rose up.

"I must of course, request that none free themselves by means of coercion," It was the duty of a lord to not sell their own people. "But a gift of land and means, that is surely a fine reward for those who would seek their fortunes among the stars!"

The young king smiled as he raised his arms high, "What say you, dear kingdom? Will we traverse the stars and spread our once-more remembered wings and give to these tired warriors our reformed vigor?"

The crowds roared approval as was proper.

"Let the legacy and vindication of my forebears be like law!" The king roared. "May the Void pay a thousandfold for their blood debt to our dead!"

 _I cough through the choking smoke that would strangle a mere mortal as I pray open the ruined machine._

 _The flesh on my hands hiss as they burn but they rip through the panels with ease._

 _His form is limp inside, blood spreading like wings from where the claw had split him open._

 _Cloth, armor and meat had been ripped cleanly through._

 _His legs had been held in place by the restraints but the pelvis had been pulled forwards by the force of the impact, spilling the viscera out._

 _But his hands were still locked on the controls._

 _His blood-shot eyes were still open._

 _A rictus grin on his face._

 _I smiled despite myself._

 _The fool had died felling a god._

 _He was allowed to die laughing._


	84. Homeward IX (Kagu'Tsuchi & Morygen PoVs)

Initiating patterns 0001-Alpha through 8034-Epsilon.

Initiating...

Error.

System flaws beyond tolerable limits.

Isolate data-files for archive.

Run new simulation.

Baseline configuration.

0009-Zeta armament. Cognomen 'Seeker'.

Initiating...

Error.

Strike.

Fracturing along servo-muscular cording.

Parry.

Aggravated damage along gauntlet playing.

Overhand strike, introduce standard deviations from perfect arc.

Residual tremors trigger panic-reflex in brain stem, heightened chances of disarmament.

Logical flaws consistent with human anatomy.

Alter baseline anatomy, Pattern: Astartes.

Blessed Armament. Cognomen 'Crusader'.

Initiating...

Error.

Force multiplication error.

Accounting aggravating factors.

Severe fractures throughout anatomy. Subject termination.

Critical error save for scenario Beta-0023 through Beta-0092.

Probability of subject survival suboptimal to resource investiture.

Kagu'tsuchi felt a pang of annoyance as she disengaged her calculative components.

A pulse reactivated her ocular components and she regarded the weapon on her principle workbench.

Standard human language referred to it as a halberd.

The structures within the receptors streamed relevant data in rivers of glyphs.

A long blade of white metal rose from a short haft wrapped in supple leather.

Most of the machinery had been internalized of course, the power pack worked into the heavy bulk of the lower blade.

She found the image pleasing, a jolt to the pleasure receptors of her organic cranial components.

Which was a minimal return on the spike of annoyance she felt.

The Vengeance-Pattern has been trivial according to her earlier assessments and the data she had been blessed with had confirmed the hypothesis.

The flaw seemed to lay in escalation.

Five standard terrain years had delivered steadily diminishing profits.

Systems delicately tied to her hippocampus flared and pulled the the metal mesh of her 'lips' back in a smile, exposing rows of cog-shaped diamonds.

It was thrilling.

In eighteen centuries of consciousness, she had not been so consistently met with failure as when she attempted to marry the secrets of Mars and Calengwag. Each failure was a precious new awareness to add to her sum of knowledge.

She eased herself from her bowing position, four arms touching the workshop floor to bow raised herself and bow to the sacred place of work.

She padded her robes in a treasured voice of habit. Fine and unaugmented save for the fire-retardation always needed to tolerate the high temperatures she preferred for her workplace.

The Magistrix idly splintered her consciousness between her auxiliary cogitators while beginning a compilation of necessary augkentations.

The time docked around the world was much welcomed.

It allowed the time to grant some oversight to a number of much more profitable projects to shift her focus to.

There establishment of her industrial colony on the resource-rich fifth planet of the system. That project alone promised considerable resources and as of late, most every Arch-Magos had been looking to expand on their powerbase. It could be deemed a Forgeworld in a century's time by current projections.

Also interesting was keeping pace with the colony-requisitions and cultural conversions being undergone by the eight auxiliary worlds sworn to the Second Legion. Armor, arms and material needed to finish reshaping them into a suitable match for the principle auxiliary of the legion. That conversion would still require twenty solar years to achieve the established quota.

She also diverted some attention to the final modifications to the Legio Vexos. The legion princeps had already made their ire known for the prolonged period of their upgrades and some two dozen engines were already being loaded onto their tomb ships.

That had been an enjoyable project, overhauling the warhounds had been a marvelous task.

All proper of course, requests issued with a proper application of packet-donations to expedite the procedure.

The newer iterations were so childish in that, they would hungrily devour some old and pitiful scrap regardless of its proper import.

Rediscovering ancient fusions and presenting the finest iterations for the Omnissiah's foxhounds. Cutting away muscle bunches in favor of sleeker, stronger forms. Stronger engines unfiltered so that they could roar the fear of the material into the immaterial.

And even that was just one.

Just one among so many more projects.

That was what had drawn her out of her wanderings in the depths of Mars, to return to her forge after years, muster her influence and leave Mars.

 _Riddles, mysteries and a chance to outwit gods, if we do not get eaten or murdered first_.

A curious offer from a curious being.

Not to say that it had been a purely emotional response.

The profits were not inconsequential and the meeting she had been granted with the Omnissiah itself had been an evident pleasure, to watch with cycling minds the multi-faceted gem that incarnated the Motive Force.

The Magistrix idly morphed her wall into a series of projectors, each illustrating one of the feeds coming from the world below.

The second iteration of the Omnissiah's will would be at work for months still before they returned to the Crusade.

Kagu'tsuchi cursed in frustration as another of the cogitator growled in anger and pushed its analysis to the fore.

The suggested augments would result in a complete automate being a more economic result, which would cost the intuitive grasp that she had designed it to serve.

There was only one feasible solution.

An improbable one.

One which would require approval.

There was nothing to do but open herself up to the Noosphere and issue a summons.

 _Stalwart Gold._

Each mind in the plane of mechanical thought was something like a small current, a sphere of identity and thought like a base lifeform in the seas of ancient Terra.

Small things easily dismissed.

Calling on the blessed spirits of the Second Legion was like speaking to the sea.

The toughest approximation one might make to one of the unaugmented is to feel the gaze of the sky above them come squarely on their own person.

Something so vast and incomprehensible that the merest facet of its thought was a multitude of answers and more questions than most adopts could compile in a lifetime.

In the noosphere its voice was that of a deity, the merest thought was a tidal wave she must hold against.

 _You summoned?_

Her response was to cycle through the analysis of the trials, a query in and of itself.

The ocean of thought's processes was instantaneous, an answer before the last file had been transferred.

 _Difficult._

That was not an answer and she chimed as much.

Kagu'tsuchi had chosen her designation for its accuracy.

Her mentors had resisted the purge of emotion, viewing the purge of perspective a theft to the greater contrast of knowledge.

Hers was an obsessive soul, a fiery smith like the burned god of old she had named herself for. She would not be deterred by inconvenience or discomfort.

 _Your proposition is reasonable, word will be spoken to the Legion Mother._

 _When_? She asked impatiently.

 _Soon, I think_ , the machine-avatar laughed like a thunderstorm. _After she finishes her business._

 _Business_?

 _She is killing a relative_.

 _Odd creature._

…

The reports were not new.

They had been building for years.

Corruption, crime, excess and shame.

Murders, patricide and regicide.

All, forgiven because of the name.

Ailbe.

Morygen would not call it a duel, calling it a duel had a tone of fairness that did not really fit the situation.

It was an execution.

And a lesson.

"A-a duel?" The youth on the throne asked in shock.

Antur did not live up to his namesake.

He had been a thin little thing, lazy and spoiled.

Morygen had not credited it, she had seen grown (and far fatter) men that fit that description and still reveal steel when pushed.

She assumed he would grow more fitting in time.

She had only been right in his shape.

The current Lord Ailbe had only improved in growing handsome and strong, round-shouldered and with a rather charming strand to his face. His eyes were still the pretty blue-green of her cousins and his mane was a nice shade of red pulled back into a short tail like her mate.

Which was the sum of the positives she had for her cousin.

He still dressed in far richer garb than the meeting called for, long furs that were layered unseasonably heavy and rich enough that he probably had to hunt down an entire forest. The gems and knotwork were layered to such a ridiculous degree that even with her eyes they were a bit of a pain to tell apart.

It would have been a ridiculous garb on her father-by-law, much less the Lord of house Ailbe. It was the sort of thing that the Goat would find excessive if it could even perceive her nephew-by-blood.

But even that would have been tolerable.

He had received her _lounging_ on the throne of her house like he was on the verge of a nap.

With consorts at his feet and a rather regretful looking noblewoman she suspected was his wife-by-oath.

And he did not even _stand_.

But the worst, the worst were the halls.

Crime had worsened in Coilmin after the new Antur took power. But they would be cleansed by the Fear Gorta and the servants that ruled the approved thief guilds.

The damage to the halls was not so easily fixed.

Hundreds of generations of restraint and elegant flourishes of elaborate design had given way to the preserve and the grotesque. Rich tapestries of lurid scenes, statuary of the new lord and the smells of overly exotic foods.

All of that alone would have been to sufficient to issue the challenge the moment that her introduction by herald was done.

He _could_ have shown a spine and have risen to her challenge.

Instead he was trembling like an especially drunk Seeker after surviving her first venture.

"Yes, a duel," She smiled as she crossed her arms. "Are you deaf, Antur?"

"Why?" The youth asked in confusion.

"Because you are singularly unworthy," Morygen smiled. "There are more than enough lords of our house that were not especially worthy. But we had made your dear father swear an oath to be worthy."

That got a reaction out of the boy.

"You dare?!" He roared with all of the ill-thought-out idiocy that came with a comfortable noble in the half-made state of the teenaged years.

 _He is no more than twenty-six by Terran standards_ , Morygen noted. _I was no better than him and even with a sister to care for, I was an idiot at that age._

At least he was smart enough to pale when he heard his petulance and remembered who he had shouted at. It was like how a dire-squirrel flared its crest to intimidate its foes purely by reflex.

 _It makes sense_ , Morygen thought. _Prydwenden was always a bit of a soft-touch, but it had been his right to succeed._

The Ailbe had never been especially good at establishing branch-families, the eldest and rightful one had been headed by a competent cousin.

The only doubt had been his eldest child.

His weak, spoiled and hedonistic child.

But they had foolishly assumed that an oath would be sufficient.

"Yes, I _do_ dare," Morygen smiled as her ten guard-sons tensed, and the scent of fear came from the Ailbe guards. "You were charged with my sweet nephew-by-blood."

They were not really necessary, she could easily kill them all in the time it would take her to breath.

And she needed _someone_ to project her anger at.

As he flustered excuses, Morygen devoted part of her attention to wondering if that meant anything.

Walwen's predicament had been her own fault.

Hers.

They should not have trusted a seven-year-old to her cousin, regardless of the protective oath both Prydwenden and Antur had sworn to look after Walwen.

He had been their responsibility. Their first son and beloved nephew both, gingerly gestated after he was carved from her dying sister for years until he was born from the machines they had salvaged.

And they had left him because of their own oaths.

Was it a wonder that he pursued them?

It was unfair to pin the blame on this little lordling that she did not really know.

And yet…

"He was a man grown!"

"He wanted my title!"

"I am the Lord of house Ailbe!"

"What need have you of that halfborn bastard?!"

She knew that already.

That they had all missed the signs of the change in Walwen's treatment after their departure, of the games played to remove him as a potential threat.

She also knew the funny little name that Walwen had been given by the boy.

That little lord defiled her family with his every step.

He weakened the legacy of her house.

Vain, greedy and spiteful.

Morygen did not remember when she had started walking towards him.

"You have children?" She asked kindly.

"Yes!" He had started stepping back as she neared. "Two by my wife, four by these! The line is secure! Worthy! Pure!"

"What are you?" Morygen asked.

It somehow galled her even more that there was nothing more to the man.

He was a genuinely small man, with nothing to pardon or redeem him.

Such a man had risen under her auspices protected because he bore her name.

That she would bare no taint for what she was about to do made it worse.

It should feel like a grim duty.

Instead she wrapped a hand around his neck and raised him from the throne he was trying to hide behind.

"Mother," Breacc spoke up, the Knight-Leader of her guard spoke up grimly. "Would you prefer us to execute this filth?"

"No," She shook her head. "I do not think that there would be a lesson if you did it."

"Lesson?" He asked, unperturbed by the desperate clawing of the man that Morygen barely noticed.

"For me, for Galtine too," She said. "That trusting the home we left behind to make due on its own, to make allowances for your own sake, that's a mistake."

The cracking sound echoed through the halls.


	85. Homeward X (Trystane PoV)

He had been looking forward to returning to the fleet and the Round after four months in Rivers-Concourse and having to play politics with the rulers of the new Republic.

So much that he had forgotten how dull their own meetings could be.

"The fleet will be ready soon," Alten'lo commented as he tapped his throne and projected the fleet sectors over the Round Chamber. "As previously discussed, the Rotary will proceed as follows."

With a sweep of his hands the fleet compositions, assets and dispositions were broken down into segments.

Trystane still found the name a bit lacking.

'Rotary'.

Four months of planning, rituals and recuperation and the best name they had agreed upon was the Rotary?

Legends were not likely to sing praise of the legion's imagination.

It was probably more imaginative than some of the names in the Imperium.

But really, rotary?

"Ten Terran years in each post," Dinada commented, the Master of Onyx leaned forwards on his throne to regard the image as if its very image irritated him. "It will be questionable to our cousins."

The others grimaced at that, the sons of the sixteenth were pleasant company, but they had all poured over the reports of the other eighteen legions (and the one that they were not allowed to discuss), it was not promising to set up that much scrutiny.

"The Authority is creditable excuse, Guildmaster," Fleet-Master Ningishzida said as he leaned forwards onto his tented fingers to observe the display. "Even if maintenance is disregarded, it is hardly an easy thing for a new crew to manage. A few exaggerated truths in the battle records and it becomes more plausible."

"That was not my concern," The master of Onyx let out a breath. "Their arrogance is astonishing, we will be seen as cowards if we are perceived as moving between Expeditionary Fleets so quickly."

"Is that an issue?" Trystane smiled at the roll of the Onyx's amber eyes.

"The issue is that they make the most honor-crazed among our people seem restrained in comparison," Dinada flashed his eight fangs in disgust. "I have no interest in trusting an ally which will deem us expendable in the name of their own glory."

"I acknowledge the possibility," The Primarch spoke up, his colorless eyes regarded the chart with annoyance. "It is why we will endeavor to not rely on them."

"Just smile and pretend it is not an issue," The Legion-Mother laughed from her seat, mourning-tear markings in contrast with her smile. "Let them have their glory and leave them to it if needed."

"I understand, Morygen-Mother, but I wish this to remain on our minds," The Onyx Guildmaster snorted but was otherwise wordless.

Trystane understood his brother's annoyance, Dinada was in many ways the most filial among them after Alten but lacked the elder Astartes's patience for the more conventional attitudes of the other Legiones. He was the most against the Rotary.

"Do not worry brother," Alten'lo smiled. "I do not disagree with your sentiment."

The master of Gold traded nods with the master of Onyx before turning his attention back to the display.

"Gold and Ruby will remain with the main Expeditionary Fleet to form the bulk of our force limitations," He gestured to the thousands of vessels which were already moving towards the central fleet-formation. "Silver, Emerald, Sapphire and Pearl will form the bulk of the rotary forces."

Each of the guilds would serve in one of the regional bases while the main force operated as the principle face and strength of the legion.

"Emerald will hold the Warden-Vigil over Calengwag," Alten'lo nodded to Percivale.

The first station on the Rotary was the Warden-Vigil, which would station the guild as guardians of Calengwag for a decade's time. It would also hold responsibility over the 'heartland' of the newborn Imperium, hunting Void-outbreaks within the Imperium territories and dark spaces. It was also the best time to resupply and try new inductees, allowing a fatigued guild to build its strength in a relatively safe setting while ensuring that the homeworld was safe.

"Silver will hold the first Companion-Vigil," Alten'lo confirmed while pointing towards the empty seat that had been raised where the future Silver Guildmaster would someday seat.

The Companion-Vigil would fill much of the remaining space of the main fleet, providing their force with a fresh guild to throw into the most visible crucibles of the Great Crusade and ensure that the ties to the main legion stayed strong.

Well, that is the idea, Trystane amended.

Four months had only managed to reduce the running to four potential candidates for the position and it would not do for a headless guild to do on its own.

"Tor, you will carry out the Ascending-Vigil while Morien will perform the Descending-Vigil," Alten'lo continued.

Two guilds scattered from mobile muster-points to the various Expeditionary Fleets to the Galactic North and South as needed. North would serve ten years before taking the South while the previous holder would move on to the Warden-Vigil.

"And the Onyx will scatter," Alten'lo concluded.

"Our ships will carry their own rotary as agreed," Dinada grunted.

Alten'lo had only begun of course.

Seeker elements, titan deployments, ship compliments and so many other factors needed to be addressed before arrangements were complete.

It was all a very tiring thing but Trystane understood their importance.

They were setting a precedent and one that would be in place for centuries at least, barring of course that some of the grimmer prophesies of his Primarch held true.

Trystane divided his attention between his minor role in the meeting and thinking about the past few moons.

The Sisters had made things hard, their arrogance had not gone without comment in the territories of Ruby at least. It had come as a relief that Percivale had been left to deal with them, as the quiet master of Emerald was by far the most reserved of their number.

More worrying was the fatigue that he sensed from both the Primarch and the Legion-Mother.

Morygen's mourning markings were demanded by tradition, black lines of paint tracing from her eyes. But there was a lack of vigor to her voice that made her seem old, withered and plainly sad.

The Primarch was little better, Galtine was easier to read than his wife. He simply forgot to put up a pretense of external reactions when his mood was sour and did a poor effort of hiding his impatience to return to the heavens.

He understood it, better than the others perhaps.

His spartan chambers in the halls of the Ruby had felt more like a prison than a home on the few occasions he had been able to sleep and even that had been preferable to what was outside.

It had not been completely awful; his sister's new grandchildren had been warm and even loving. But they were the exception in a sea of painful reminders.

It was tempting to think of Calengwag as home.

But Trystane knew that it wasn't.

Their homeworld was a wellspring and a tomb.

New brothers, new blood for their family.

But also, the resting place of so many kin, kith and wars that it hurt to linger there for longer than necessary.

The crusade is our real home, Trystane sighed. What that says about us is an entirely different affair.

…

So, the forces of the Second Legiones Astartes splintered into four fleets.

Percivale of the Emerald remained on the homeworld of their legion, holding sway over the entirety of the system's defenses in addition to his own fleet forces.

Morien of the Pearl departed southwards aboard the bridge of the Battle-Barge Joy. With him, he took seven thousand Astartes and their accompanying forces, taking the Legates Imperator to be delivered to the Tenth Primarch with them.

Tor Galath of the Sapphire departed north with his flagship Multitude and his six thousand brothers, to his new base in the Hundredth and Seventy Seventh Expeditionary Fleet.

And the Eighty Second Expeditionary once more launched towards its appointed coordinates. Twenty-two thousand Astartes remained with the main fleet, along with the Legio Vexos and a full three million mortal warriors.

Their destination was the predicted location of the Sixth Legion.

Cognomen: Space Wolves.

…

"It is a ridiculous name," He chuckled as he opened a decanter from his private collection and offered it to Alten'lo.

Trystane was unabashed in the furnishing of his apartments on the Avalon.

He kept a comfortable home, walled in stone and wood to resemble a middling country-estate scaled to his physiology.

Which included a comfortable den with a roaring fire that almost seemed real, decorated with wood-over-steel furnishings and leather seats, one of which his brother filled.

"They are worthy of some respect," The bearded Astartes said after sipping from the bottle and handing it to him. "They are relentless warriors and loyal to the emperor."

"Isn't that the basic expectation?" Trystane chuckled as he took a drink of his own. "I do not think that we are meant to relent and be treacherous, except the twentieth."

"We are still supposed to not be aware of their existence," The Terran berated him with some humor in his gruff voice. "And 'Space Wolf' is no more humorous than Luna Wolves."

"They are not prone to void combat and if we accept an extra-planetary definition," He pushed back his silver-gold mane. "Then we must accept that we are the 'Space Dawn Knights', 'Space Luna Wolves' and 'Space Iron Hands'. Even calling them Vlka Fenryka seems a bit too literal if it actually does just mean 'Fenrisians'."

The Terran arched a bushy brow, "You are being a touch literal."

"I am," Trystane admitted with a laugh. "But I am worried."

"Oh, I would not say that you are alone in that," Alten'lo admitted while evaluating the trophy blades the lined the walls.

He could freely admit that he had something of a taste for collecting weaponry. Aeldari blades, makeshift Ork klaws and a wide assortment of xenos and human arms, some of which had been maddeningly difficult to hang-up due to their irregular shapes.

Head taking was not unusual on Calengwag, some areas practiced it as a matter of evidence or in ritual practice.

But… Trystane thought that there was something a touch morbid about collecting the skulls of sapient creatures as decorative furnishings.

It struck an uncomfortable middle ground between disrespectful and needy by his reckoning.

"They seem like they will be difficult," he said more seriously. "The Luna Wolves had their odd touches, but this Rout sounds like an irritatingly grim bunch from the records."

"They have spirits," Alten'lo commented. "I have heard it takes like death."

"Who would want to drink death?" Trystane chuckled. "I would much prefer to drink good-humour, coin and other things I can actually enjoy."

"I am not sure that I understand them, they are a rather private legion," The Golden Guildmaster admitted. "Age is hardly a promise of answers."

"Well that is disappointing," Trystane muttered as he finished what was left of the decanter. "I had thought older people were of a more knowledgeable make."

"Age is relative, are you not four years my elder?" Alten'lo frowned curiously.

"Two!" Trystane waved defensively.

"Terran," The elder said dryly.

"Well, then yes," He laughed. "But in fairness, you look older. Is that not what really matters?"

He emphasized by passing a hand over his clean-shaven face to highlight the contrast between him and the elderly seeming former legion-master.

"By that logic, all of the Sixth would be your elders," He shook his head.

"As long as I get to be youthful one," He laughed.

"Is there not a jibe among mortals regarding desperate attempts by the aging to retain their youth?" He said plainly.

"Precisely!" Trystane smiled while standing up. "Let me get another so we may reminisce about my immaturity."

He enjoyed the company of the senior Astartes, especially his willingness to follow his horrid jests without restraint.

It was one of the things he likes best about being home.


End file.
